Rollercoaster
by Kate-The-Great-And-Powerful
Summary: You can count on life to be an emotional rollercoaster, whether you're in the arena or not. Here's a look at the lives of some Panemites. I hope you enjoy their stories :)
1. Falling Apart, Falling Into Place

**Credit for this idea goes to Wetstar, a fabulous author who has written a story called Iron Children. You should check it out! That story is the inspiration for this one! Crystal Ryans belongs to her, too :)**

**The link to Iron Children:**

****** www . fanfiction s / 8961417 / 1 /Iron-Children (Just eliminate spaces :))**

**And here is the very first chapter of Rollercoasters. It's named this way because, well, isn't life an emotional rollercoaster sometimes?**

_"Only after disaster can we be resurrected. It's only after you've lost everything that you're free to do anything. Nothing is static, everything is evolving, everything is falling apart." — Chuck Palahniuk_

Chapter One: Falling Apart, Falling Into Place

The first explosion rattles the house, nearly knocking me off my feet. As soon as I regain my balance, I run to the window. My fingers fumble as I try to undo the lock. I throw open the window just as a column of fire erupts from the street.

"Ah!" I yell, slamming the window shut. I've heard rumors of a rebellion. Everyone has. I know what happened in 8. But District 1 always seemed…untouchable.

Another bomb goes off. I race down the stairs.

"Mom? Dad?" I call out, but the house is empty. I open the door and look outside. More fire, louder blasts. Homes torn to pieces by bombs dropped from the hovercrafts above. Frozen with fear, I stare up at the planes, like massive metal birds in the cloudless sky. I flinch when I hear the sound of gunshots from the Victors' Village.

From the Victors' Village!

The door swings open all the way. I jump over the three front steps and hit the ground running. My best friend lives in the Village with her mother, the victor of the 49th Hunger Games. If they're targeting the victors first, Crystal will be next.

"Crys!" I yell, even though I know she can't hear me. Before I can cross the street, a rusty car speeds up onto the curb and jerks to a stop in front of me, nearly crashing into the mailbox. The passenger-side window rolls down with an ear-splitting scraping sound, revealing an unhappy-looking man in the driver's seat.

"Splendor, get in!" he orders.

"How do you know my name?" I ask, taking a step back. The man looks annoyed, like I'm wasting his time.

"I'm a friend of your parents," he says flatly, "They want you to _get in the car_."

"No! How do I know—"

"Get in the car!" Before I can react, the man flings open the passenger-side door, grabs me by the front of my shirt, and yanks me inside. He reaches over and slams the door shut behind me. As I reach for the handle, the click of a lock tells me it's useless. The tires screech as the stranger stomps on the gas pedal.

"Let me out!" I yell, banging on the window with my fists. It doesn't do any good, but it makes a lot of noise, which my kidnapper doesn't appreciate.

"Shut up!" he shouts.

"Where are you taking me?" I shout back, trying to erase the nervousness in my voice.

"Somewhere safe," he says, not taking his eyes off the road. He swerves to avoid a Peacekeeper, and I'm thrown against the window.

"Put your seatbelt on, kid," he tells me, "You're gonna need it."

"Who are you?" I yell.

"Patric."

"My parents never said anything about knowing a Patric!" Patric gives a frustrated sigh, like this is the tenth time he's had to explain it to me.

"'Cause my last name's Bright."

"_You're_ Bright?" I exclaim, recalling a conversation my parents had once about a man named Bright. It isn't uncommon to have that kind of name in District 1. My name, an excellent example, is Splendor. My sister's name was Flash.

"Patric Bright," Patric points out.

"Did they tell you to get me out?" I ask.

"Yeah. I live—" Patric coughs and corrects himself, "_lived_ in District Two. So I was close." We've made it out of the chaos, but he hasn't slowed the car.

"Do you know where they are?" I ask. Patric raises an eyebrow.

"I didn't know they were gone."

"Oh," I say, not sure what to think. Whether I should be worried for their lives. Whether to believe anything Patric says in the first place. A long moment passes.

"I haven't seen your family since you were…What? Four years old?" I don't remember seeing him at all.

"Yeah, that must be it," he decides, "How's your sister?" I flinch.

"She's dead." Flash died in the Hunger Games two years ago. He should have known it, though. Viewing is mandatory, and Flash made it to the final four. There's no way he could have missed her.

"Oh," said Patric, "Ah, sorry. She was a good kid, Flash." I look out the back window and watch District 1 disappear.

"How old are you now?" asks Patric, "Ten?"

"_Eleven_."

"Huh. You look smaller." I try to sit up straighter in the seat.

"I'm _not_ small," I say. Patric laughs loudly.

"You'll grow," he replies, turning his attention back to the road ahead.

I fasten my seatbelt.

**Please review, I'd really appreciate some feedback!**


	2. This Isn't Goodbye

**Ohmygosh! People are sticking with the story (or collection of stories, rather) until Chapter Two! So first off, thanks! It really means a lot to me :) Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far! (That means you, Dreamer!) If you haven't reviewed yet, it's never too late… XD Just kidding, I'm just happy you're reading. But if you have time, I'd love a review :)**

_"How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard." –A. A. Milne_

Chapter Two: This Isn't Goodbye

I run into the Justice Building, just in time to catch my family on their way out. My younger brother, Dax, looks up at me.

"Late." It doesn't come out sounding like a taunt, as it should. Because I'm not the only one who is worried for Julius.

"Go on," says Uncle Benton, nodding towards the door, "You've still got time."

The Peacekeeper standing guard reluctantly lets me in, shutting the door behind me. My cousin is standing on the far side of the room, his attention focused on whatever he sees outside the window. He turns around when he hears the door close, smiling when he sees me.

"Hey, Delta," he says, "How's your first reaping?"

"Good," I say, trying to smile back at him, "How was your last?" He laughs loudly, even though I don't see what's funny. It's the truth. He's eighteen; this would be his last year whether he had volunteered for the Games or not.

"Went well. I think I did pretty good."

"Yeah, you did," I say, nodding, "They're not ever going to overlook you." Julius grins, but his face falls after a moment.

"What's the matter?"

"I…I'm just going to miss you while you're there." Julius falters. For a split-second, his confident persona disappears. But just as suddenly as it left, it returns.

"Hey… I'll miss you, too. But it's gonna all be right." He hugs me. "I promise."

"Come home soon," I say, hugging him back. I don't want him to see me cry. I don't want him to lose his confidence when he sees I'm afraid for him. And I don't want my tears to mark his shirt, especially if he's going to be in front of the cameras again in a few minutes.

"I will," he says. Julius isn't crying. He knows he'll come back. Why can't I be more like him?

I let go of him finally, and he kneels down so he can look me in the eye.

"I need you to keep care of something for me while I'm gone. They're not gonna let me take it. Could you have it safe?" I nod. Julius takes something out of his pocket, a rectangular case made of worn leather. He flips open the top and unsheathes a small, silvery knife.

I've seen it before. It's well-used; the blade has plenty of notches in it. This isn't the knife he uses to train. This is the knife he used to carve his name into a tree in his backyard. The knife he used to rescue my kite when it got tangled in a bush. Julius doesn't use it as a weapon, because it's not meant for that. It's a tool. He's kept it with him ever since I can remember.

"You'd trust me with this?"

"'Course I would," he says with a smile, slipping the knife back into its case and handing it to me. Then, he becomes serious, choosing each word carefully.

"If…If I don't make it back, I think you ought to have it, Delt."

"What?"

"You heard."

"But…you _are_ coming back," I say. Julius gives me a smile.

"Just remember that, yeah?" I look down at the case, run my thumb over the rough letters _J. S._, initials carved into the leather years ago. He couldn't have been older than I am now.

Julius Saunders. In the arena, he'll use a spear. If he doesn't come back, I'll get his knife.

But if he doesn't come back, I'm not sure I'll want it.

**Hope you enjoyed reading this chapter! Just a note, Julius always speaks like that. :) To find out what happens to him in the Games, read my other fanfiction, The Victor From Twelve! Well, the title sort of gives it away…Julius doesn't make it home. :'( But if you review, and you want to hear more to this story, I'll write another chapter or two about them!**


	3. Trouble

**Another District One chapter, because I just love that district :) I have a ton of characters from there, and the ones I've written about so far will probably be featured more than just once, especially the characters in this chapter. These three are from another one of my fanfics, Note to Self. This story, though, takes place nearly twenty years in the past. :) And it's in third person, because I had no idea whose point of view I should write… It's a good thing this is a really random fanfiction. Hope you enjoy!**

_"Expect trouble as an inevitable part of life and repeat to yourself, the most comforting words of all; this, too, shall pass." –Ann Landers_

Chapter Three: Trouble

He was late. He knew he was late. But yet, he took his time as he walked back to the house. His parents, both quarry workers, wouldn't be home until after dark. And if he kept walking at this pace, he hoped, his sisters would forget about him. Still, when he arrived home, he went around the side of the house and opened the back door. He took great care in doing this, as he knew better than anyone that the hinges squeaked.

"Beacon!" Diamond covered her mouth with her hands. Beacon swore under his breath. The whole point of walking through this way was that Diamond wouldn't notice. But it didn't matter now, because both of his sisters had already seen him. Diamond was frozen, staring at him in shock. Hyaline, the youngest of the siblings, looked up from her coloring. Their brother's lip was split; a stream of blood trickled down his chin. One of his eyes was swollen shut.

Beacon wasn't going to offer up an explanation. He shook his head, walking straight past his sisters.

"Beacon!" Diamond repeated, sounding angry this time. She followed him, having to take two steps for every one of his to keep up. She shouted his name once more as he reached the bottom of the stairs. Beacon turned around.

"What?" he growled. Diamond winced.

"Why do you keep doing this?" she asked. Beacon scowled.

"I'm fine. Leave me alone."

"You're not fine! This is the third time you've come home like this!"

"So?"

"Third time this _month_."

"I got into a fight! Big deal!" Beacon raised his voice.

"Big deal," mimicked Diamond, "Look at yourself!"

Hyaline watched her siblings fight from her spot at the kitchen table, swinging legs that weren't quite long enough to reach the ground. She listened to them argue for what seemed like forever, and wished her parents would come back from the quarry soon. Her siblings didn't fight as much when Mom and Dad were at home.

"You don't have to tell why," said Diamond, lowering her voice, "Just sit down at the table. I'll get the first-aid kit." Beacon gave up with a sigh, nodding his head mutely and doing as she said.

"Hi, Hy," he said, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

"Hi, Beacon." Hy looked down at the paper she was coloring and realized her picture didn't resemble in the least what she was trying to draw. She began to crumple it into a ball.

"Hey, it wasn't half bad," said Beacon. Hy shook her head.

"I didn't like it," she said.

As Beacon and Hyaline talked, Diamond stood on her toes to reach the highest cabinet, and took down the first-aid kit. She set it on the table in front of Beacon.

"Hy, get some ice?" Hy nodded and did as she was told. Diamond opened the first-aid kit and searched through its contents. The bruises would fade, but his torn lip wouldn't heal as easily on its own. She looked at her brother apologetically when she found the needle.

"You sure about that?" Beacon seemed doubtful.

"We could wait until Mom and Dad get home. But they'll want to take you to the hospital for it."

"Do your best." Diamond nodded and began to stitch up his lip. By the time their sister came back with a bag of ice, the thirteen-year-old's shaky hands had slowly, but surely, made a row of five neat stitches.

"Not bad," said Beacon, looking at his reflection in the window, "You could be a doctor someday." Diamond grinned at him proudly. Beacon didn't return the smile; he didn't want to pull at the stitches his sister had been so careful to sew straight.

"Beacon," Hy called from the window.

"I don't think I could've done better myself," Beacon continued, taking the bag of ice and holding it to his eye.

"Beacon," Hy repeated, raising her voice.

"When do you think—"

"Beacon!" Hy exclaimed. Beacon looked over at his younger sister.

"What?"

"Mom and Dad are home!"

All three siblings exchanged a panicked glance. Then, Diamond snapped the first aid kit closed and flung open the cabinet door to put it back where it belonged. Hy grabbed a dishrag to wipe up the melted ice that had spilled onto the table. Beacon nearly knocked over his chair as he raced out of the kitchen, through the living room, up the stairs, down the hall, and into his room, where his door would remain locked for the rest of the night.

**Hope you liked this one! And you will definitely see more of Hy, Beacon, and Diamond in later chapters! :D Please review!**


	4. Lightning Flash, Thunder Crash

**Hi everyone! I'm in fifth period right now, gym, but I forgot my clothes. So I have to do homework. But this time (for once) I don't have any! :D So I'm going to write fanfiction instead. :) I had an idea earlier to write about how Alder, a character from one of my other stories (The Victor From Twelve) met his two best friends, Rowan and Linden. Well, they met when they were twelve, the year of the 3****rd**** Hunger Games. It was a dark and stormy nigh- *coughs and corrects herself* afternoon…**

_"On the fifth day, which was a Sunday, it rained very hard. I like it when it rains hard. It sounds like white noise everywhere, which is like silence but not empty." –Mark Haddon_

Chapter Three: Lightning Flash, Thunder Crash

I can barely hear the slap of my shoes against the ground over the deafening noise of the rain pounding the road into rubble. It's cold and wet; the grayest, rainiest day of the year. I know I'm being followed. And even though I'm running for my life, I'm grinning.

"Aah!" I look back at Rowan and laugh when I see my friend has fallen face-first into the mud. I skid to a halt, nearly loosing my footing on the slippery ground. When I turn around, Rowan has vanished.

"Rowan?"

"Here!" shouts a voice in my ear. I scream and jump about ten feet in the air. And when I land, I land right in the mud.

"Gah! Gross!"

"Sorry, Lin!" he says, but he's having a hard time making it sound sincere; he's laughing too hard.

"Mom's going to kill me!" I exclaim above the noise, looking down at my muddy clothes. Rowan holds out his hand, and I take it to pull myself up. He's still grinning at me, though he's even messier than I am. I can barely see his eyes; his dark hair is plastered across his forehead with mud. I try to stifle a giggle, and then we're both laughing.

"C'mon," he says, "Let's get out of the rain!" He starts running, and I chase after him, trying not to lose sight of him in the heavy rain. We head towards center of town, completely deserted in the storm, and take cover next to one of the shops, where we're shielded from the rain by the edge of the roof.

"How far from here to the store?" asks Rowan, squinting to read the shop windows across the road. My family and I live in an apartment above the general store. I would be walking there now, if I knew which way to go.

"I don't know," I laugh, wringing out my ponytail, "But I'll find it. You should probably head home, too. Leah's going to think you got struck by—"

Just then, a fork of pure electricity lights up the sky, followed closely by an ear-splitting crack of thunder.

"—lightning," I finish weakly. Rowan swears. He lives in the Seam, a neighborhood of ashy grey houses that belong to coal miners and their families. It's also a very long walk from where we stand.

For a minute, the only noises we hear are the rain and the thunder, which is growing steadily louder. At the end of the minute, we realize we aren't alone.

I spot the boy first. He's standing by the other side of the store, and doesn't seem to have noticed Rowan and I. He looks like Rowan and the other kids from the Seam, with the same dark hair and olive skin. I can't see the color of his eyes, though; he's staring down at the ground. I nudge Rowan with my elbow.

"Look." Rowan turns around and sees the boy.

"Hey!" he calls. Startled, the boy looks up. I recognize him. He's in our year at school.

He looks confused, and points to himself, asking silently if Rowan was addressing him. Who else could he be addressing? There's no one here, other than the three of us. Rowan nods, and the boy walks over tentatively. His eyes, I notice, are a silvery grey color.

"I know you," says Rowan, "You live on my street." The boy nods.

"Well, I'm Rowan."

"And I'm Linden," I introduce myself, holding out my hand. He shakes it after a slight hesitation.

"What's your name?" asks Rowan. The boy's mouth moves, but his voice is lost in a great crash of thunder.

"What?" Rowan and I shout at the same time.

"Alder," he says, cracking a smile. I realize it's the first time I've ever heard him speak.

"What are you doing out in the rain?" I ask. Alder raises an eyebrow as he takes in our mud-covered clothes. Rowan notices his expression and laughs.

"Good point. We were taking a walk and got caught in the rain. And…After that it sort of turned into a race, right?"

"Right," I say.

"And it was really slippery, as you can see. Your turn," Rowan tells Alder, grinning. Alder thinks for a moment.

"Just walking."

"This far from the Seam? You had to be at the shops for something," says Rowan.

"Looking around," Alder replies with a shrug.

"Oh. See anything interesting?" Alder shrugs again as the sky is illuminated by another bright flash of lightning.

_BOOM!_ All three of us jump, the loudest thunderclap ringing in our ears.

"Maybe we ought to go home," says Rowan, scanning the road for the shortest route to the Seam.

"No way! C'mon, we can all head to the store," I tell him.

"Your parents hate me! They'd never let me track mud into their store," says Rowan, "Besides, do we even know how to get there? I don't recognize any of these shops."

"Come on!" I say. But as I look around, I realize he's right. I have no idea where we are.

"Clarke's?" asks Alder, and we turn around.

"Yeah, that's it," I say.

"It's this way." With that, Alder runs into the rain, turning into an alleyway and disappearing from sight.

"C'mon!" says Rowan, grabbing my wrist and starting to run after him.

I sure hope Alder has a better sense of direction than we do.

**So, how did you like it? :) A little extra info, Alder goes into the 6****th**** Hunger Games when he's fifteen. And he wins, as the title of Victor From Twelve suggests! And Rowan and Linden eventually become a couple :) Next chapter will be about Violet Henson, Alder's district partner :) Please review!**


	5. Stranger

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Especially to my cousin, Sophia M! :D **

**Do you remember the District One chapter? Well, I have made a copy of it and transformed it into a story about three kids whose family is in the Witness Protection Program! I submitted it in a writing contest XD It's so funny reading that version, when I know so much about the HG versions of those characters. I mean, Diamond will always grow up to be a doctor. But if Beacon grew up in this story, where would he be if he couldn't work at the Training Center? What if that little five year old, Hyaline, didn't grow up and win the Games when she was eighteen?! LOL :) I think I'll have some fun figuring out what their lives would have been like without the Games :)**

** Anyway, I've been talking way too long! Here's the next chapter, hope you enjoy! :D**

_"There are no strangers here; only friends you haven't met yet." –William Butler Yeats_

Chapter Five: Stranger

"Where are you going, Vi?" Benjy asks, watching as I head for the door. I don't want to leave him alone while our parents are at the mines, but he's eight years old; he can manage on his own for an hour. I'm not going to let him come with me, not this time.

"Nowhere," I say, "You be good, okay?" Benjy nods, and I smile at him before leaving the house.

It's the beginning of spring, and the people of District 12 are celebrating the nice weather by stepping out to do errands, or just walking around the square.

It's that time of year again. The coal demand isn't as constant as it was during the winter, and the miners suffer because of it. Even with both parents working and only two children, my family doesn't have enough to eat. I've done everything I can in desperate times. I've hunted for edible plants in the Meadow. I've searched the merchants' trash bins. I've even stolen.

I'm not proud of it. Not at all. There's no thrill in it for me; especially not since my parents found out. Recently, I've told them that I exchange plants from the Meadow for the food I bring home. And then, the Head Peacekeeper began the public whippings in the square. They've taught me that thieves are punished. Severely. I don't take much; only what I need. The bare minimum. Would I be punished like that, too?

My eyes land on the bakery. They've set up a small stand outside, most likely to advertise with the smell of freshly-baked bread. And they've built up their goods into a neat little pyramid, too, so everyone can see them. It's caught my attention. They're taking everything they have and holding it in front of our noses. Merchants.

I head over, keeping my eyes down as if I'm examining the cracks in the street. The baker is out front, laughing with one of the shopkeepers. I stop walking a few meters away from the stand. Close enough to be ready, far enough away to look like I'm going somewhere else.

Suddenly, there's a _crash!_ from a few shops over. The baker and his friend both crane their necks to try and find out what happened, and I see my chance. I run in and grab a single loaf of bread from the pyramid. I realize what's about to happen a split-second before it does. Too late. The rest of the loaves tumble down from the stack. My eyes widen in horror as the baker turns around at the noise. I break into a run.

"Hey!" he shouts after me. "Stop!" I sprint as hard and fast as I can, imagining every head turning to stare as I run. They know who I am! The Peacekeepers will find me; drag me back here in chains and whip me until I lose consciousness! What if they chase after me and shoot me?! What if they're already coming?

I keep running until I reach the Meadow. I bolt across the grass and skid to a halt in front of the electric fence. We only get a few hours of electricity a day at home; I know as well as anybody that they never bother to turn on the fence. I lie down on my stomach and slide under a break in the wire.

I've only been outside the district border a few times; I don't usually risk the trip. When the Meadow is frozen, I sometimes search for edible plants along the edge of the fence, but I hardly ever cross to the other side. I run through the trees, crying now. Someone's following me. I can hear their footsteps!

"Leave me alone!" I whirl around and lash out at my pursuer with my fist.

"Agh!" shouts a voice, "OW!" I stop short, confused. It's not a Peacekeeper. He must be only about three or four years older than me, actually. He's just a kid. A kid who doesn't look very happy with me.

"What was that for?!" he shouts, holding his shirt sleeve to his nose to stop the bleeding.

"They were chasing me!" I choke out.

"No one's chasing you! Why would they be chasing you?" he argues.

"Because I took this and they saw me do it! They did!" I hold out the loaf of bread. It's broken and dented; I'd been holding it in a tight grip the entire way. The boy stares at me strangely for a second. Then, he bursts out laughing.

"What?!" I'm still watching for Peacekeepers.

"They're not going to bother chasing a ten-year-old with a stolen piece of bread all the way out here!" he laughs. I'm struck dumb for a moment.

"I-I'm not ten! I'm almost twelve!" I finally say. The boy grins at me.

"Doesn't matter," he says, "You need to stop being so hysterical. Just calm down." _Easier said than done_, I think bitterly. I wipe the tears from my eyes, trying not to look over the boy's shoulder for approaching Peacekeepers.

"You don't steal a lot, do you?" he asks. I shake my head.

"But I have to…"

"No, you don't. There are other ways to get food," he says. There's a mischievous glint in his steel-grey eyes. He draws a short knife from his belt. I frown, uneasy. It's illegal to own a weapon—any weapon—unless it has been approved. But the moment this teenager set foot in the woods he knew he was breaking the law. I doubt his knife is authorized, either.

"Like what?" I ask him. The boy isn't looking at me anymore. His attention has focused on something farther away.

"Like this." With a quick motion, he throws the knife. I jump as it flies past me. The boy points, and I turn to see a dead rabbit lying on the ground, the knife's wooden handle sticking out of its side.

"How did you do that?"

"It's pretty simple, really. I could teach you, if you wanted."

"Who are you?" The boy grins.

"Cedar," he says, "You?"

"I'm Violet."

"Nice to meet you, Violet," says Cedar. I give him a nod.

"I should go," I say, "My brother's waiting for me…"

"Okay," says Cedar nonchalantly, kneeling down and yanking the knife out of the rabbit. I start to walk back towards the fence.

"Hey, Violet!" Cedar calls after me. I turn around. He hurls something gray in my direction. Just in time to save it from falling into the dirt, I catch it. It's the rabbit.

"You're giving me this?" I look up.

But Cedar, whoever he is, is gone.

**Sorry I took so long! Please review :D**


	6. People Watching

Chapter Six: People Watching

Quintica started laughing so hard she nearly spit out her ice cream. Claudia beamed, happy she'd finally told a joke with a decent punch line. The two little girls had visited the apartment of Claudia's babysitter today, as Quint's parents were out and Claudia's father was working. It seemed like her father was always working, especially this time of year. Being the Head Gamemaker required a lot of dedication.

On days like today, Cynthia would accompany them to the ice cream shop a few blocks away. While Cynthia took a seat at the corner table and read a magazine, the two nine-year-olds would sit up by the bar table—which was perfectly legal for the children to sit at, as even Capitol ice cream shops don't sell alcohol—and exchange stories and jokes as they ate their frozen treats.

"That one was funny," said Quint, grinning. She fixed her hairband, which had slipped out of place as she laughed. Her hair was a royal blue color this month, accented in places with streaks of purple. Claudia's father had a strict rule about cosmetic alterations. 'Not until you're twelve.' The closest thing she had to Quint's colorful hair was pierced ears.

In all honestly, Claudia didn't think Quint even needed to dye her hair. She was a redhead naturally, and why would she want to dye hair that was already such a vivid shade? But Quint had her reasons, and that day her hair was blue. And as always, it was pinned back neatly with a headband. Claudia's hair was dark brown, and usually messy. She didn't have time to fuss over it like the other girls in her class. But yet, maybe she'd make time to fuss over it if it was teal-colored…

_Crash!_ Claudia turned around. An avox clearing the plates from another table had dropped one of his dishes. He knelt down quickly and started to collect the shards.

"Whoops," said Quint with a smirk. Claudia didn't respond, studying the boy on the ground. He was wearing the uniform, same as the rest of the avoxes, but there was something different about him. Something significantly less…avox-like.

For one thing, he was younger than most of the servants Claudia had seen. He looked like a teenager. Probably older than Quint's sister, who was in her final few years of high school, but younger than Cynthia, who would soon turn twenty-one. And there was something in the way he held himself—even cleaning up shattered dishes from the floor—that made him seem like someone important. It didn't stop him from cutting himself on a broken plate's uneven edge, though. Claudia winced.

"He's new," she noted, though her friend normally didn't care in the least what the avoxes were up to.

"Seems like it," said Quint. She lazily swirled the spoon in her cup, turning her ice cream into chocolate soup. "See how angry he looks?" Claudia squinted, but she couldn't see him well enough. His hair had fallen into his eyes, masking his expression. The young Capitolite turned back to her friend, shaking her head. Quint shrugged.

"Why do you think he's here?" asked Claudia.

"I don't know," said Quint, "Does it matter?"

"It matters to him," Claudia pointed out, "Maybe he's some sort of criminal."

"Well, of course he's a criminal," said Quint, though her air of indifference had disappeared. "He's an avox!"

"Do you think he murdered someone?" asked Claudia.

"I don't think they'd let him work out here if he was a murderer," said Quint. "Would they?" Claudia laughed.

"I guess you're right. But what else could he have done to end up an avox?" Quint didn't answer. "Quint?"

Claudia heard a noise behind her, and swiveled around in her chair. There stood the avox boy. Within earshot. And yes, he did look angry.

For a minute or so he just stood there, looking down at her with an expression that was somewhere between a scowl and a grimace. Claudia couldn't stop staring at his eyes. One was dark brown, the other a piercing blue. She'd known people to undergo surgery for two different colored eyes. Yet, he couldn't be from the Capitol. Simply the way he looked daggers at the girls told Claudia this avox was from the districts.

"I-I'm sor—" Claudia began to tell him. The avox boy's eyes widened, his scowl disappearing. He shook his head quickly. Claudia stopped mid-apology, confused. The boy glanced over his shoulder once, as if looking to see if anyone had heard. Though he had an unfriendly look about him, he seemed frightened of something, and Claudia couldn't help but wonder what it was. He pointed at her bowl of half-finished ice cream. There was a jagged gash down the side of his hand where the plate had cut him.

"We're done," Quint told him. The avox boy nodded, looking grateful for the opportunity to escape, and took their bowls away. Claudia felt low. Why did she have to say such stupid things? Avoxes were mute, not deaf. And it wasn't as if they didn't have feelings of their own. Once, they'd had lives and families of their own, too.

"I think we should go." Quint seemed entirely untroubled. "Maybe we'll have time to stop by the park on the way back."

"Yeah." Claudia nodded, not feeling as enthusiastic about the park as she normally would have. "Let's go." The girls got up from their chairs and walked over to Cynthia's table.

Claudia looked back once, but the avox wasn't there.

**Dedicated to my sister Anne, because (and I think she already knows this) I'm totally jealous of her two different colored eyes XD Please review! And a contest to those of you who I've given a ton of spoilers for this chapter, first one to guess the avox's name gets a shoutout! :D**


	7. Sing Out

**A shoutout to HogwartsDreamer113 for guessing the avox's name! It's Lex. And Wetstar was a very close second! Both of them have some great stories, and everyone should check them out! :D**

Chapter Seven: Sing Out

The siblings walked through the forest. They weren't supposed to be there, but they knew that already. It wasn't going to be a long walk, Cae assured himself. They would be back before their parents noticed they were gone.

Ally ran ahead, laughing like the carefree seven-year-old she was. Her brother knew she loved the music of the birds in the trees, and the sight of the wildflowers along the way. She told him many times that the woods was the most beautiful part of District 5.

Cae was twelve. He shared his sister's red hair and freckles, though he was taller by over a foot. He had also been blind for six years. He could navigate his home easily. However, the forest posed a new challenge for him, and he found himself stumbling over roots as he struggled to catch up with his sister.

He was the careful one. He knew not to take a step unless you knew where you were going. He didn't like coming out into the woods. In contrast to his home, where he knew where everything was so long as it was in its place, the forest was an abyss of complete darkness. But today, he was determined to brave the mystery of the forest.

"Come on, Cae!" said Ally. Her voice sounded too far away. Cae quickened his pace, sending himself right into a tree.

_Who put that there?_ He thought bitterly, rubbing his nose.

"Cae?" Ally was standing beside him now. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay." Cae nodded. It wasn't a complete lie. He still couldn't tell whether his sister believed him.

"Wanna go in?" asked Ally. "We can eat lunch." So she probably didn't trust he was completely happy with this walk in the woods.

"No," said Cae, "I'm fine. Besides, I want to show you something."

"What?"

"C'mon." Cae took his sister's hand, and together they walked further into the woods. Cae listened to the forest around him, until he found the perfect place to stop.

"Here."

"We're really far, Cae…" said Ally, sounding worried. This was unlike her. They must have gone a very long way for Alcyone Ellison to be afraid.

"There's nothing in the forest that we should be afraid of."

"But the fence," said Ally, "It's to keep out—"

"The fence was built to keep us in. Now, are you ready?"

"Ready for what?" The fear was gone from Ally's voice. Cae smiled. Then, he whistled one note. The forest suddenly grew very quiet. Only Cae's note rang out through the silence.

Cae began whistling a tune, the melody of a familiar song. The lyrics were melancholy. Cae much preferred the tune, which sounded cheerful on its own. When he finished the song, the forest was still eerily still.

In a moment, another whistle echoed through the trees, copying Cae's song. One after another, more songbirds joined the chorus. Their melodies began to overlap, creating a beautiful harmony. Cae heard Ally catch her breath.

"What are they?"

"Mockingjays," Cae smiled. "They're songbirds."

"Can I try?" asked Ally. Cae nodded, and Ally began to sing. It was a different song, once Cae had never heard before. The mockingjays repeated it back to her in a series of clear chirps and warbles. Ally laughed in delight.

"What's that one?" asked Cae as they started to walk back home.

"I learned it in class. I don't remember what it's called, though."

"In class?" Cae grinned. "Lucky you. In sixth grade, you don't learn songs."

"What do you learn in sixth grade?"

"Math."

"That sounds boring," said Ally with a sigh.

"It's all right."

"Can we come out here again tomorrow?" she asked hopefully.

"Maybe," said Cae doubtfully. "They could catch us, though."

"But we're just kids. They can't do bad things to us, can they?" Cae grimaced. In two weeks, his name would be entered in the reaping for the first time.

"Yes," he said, "They can. So be careful, okay?"

"Okay, Cae."

**Review please! And thank you for reading! :) Cae also appears in Inevitable, one of my newest fanfics! Because when he's seventeen, he goes into the Games…**


	8. Something's Wrong

**Hope you are enjoying the stories so far! If there are any characters you want to hear more about, just tell me! :)**

_"Acceptance doesn't mean resignation; it means understanding that something is what it is and that there's got to be a way through it." –Michael J. Fox_

Chapter Eight: Something's Wrong

Everyone avoided him. The boy with the curly blonde hair, the steel-grey eyes that always seemed to stare right past you. Maybe he never noticed that he was alone. I couldn't tell. They told me what he saw every day wasn't the same as what the rest of us saw. But back then, I just couldn't wrap my mind around it. Did that mean his District 2 was different from mine?

My mom and dad told me they used to know his parents well. But for one reason or another, that's all they would say. But it didn't stop me from wondering about him.

He was seven, a year younger than me, but he wasn't in school. I thought, at first, that he had gone into training early. Some kids did that. On occasion, I saw him walking through the square. He never spoke to anybody, always left about a minute after he came. Sometimes he was smiling. Other times he seemed angry. Most times he looked afraid, glancing over his shoulder like someone was chasing him.

That day he was expressionless. He kept turning his head from side to side, almost as if he had dropped something and was trying to remember where he'd lost it.

"Philemon!" hissed Cornelia, tugging on my sleeve. I turned to her.

"What?"

"Stop looking at him! What if he saw you?"

"Why's that bad?" I didn't get it. Cornelia rolled her eyes.

"Because he's _insane_," she told me, lowering her voice. I looked back at the boy, who had stopped walking in the middle of the square.

"No, he's not. He's just… just different, that's all." I said. "Maybe he's lonely." Cornelia made a face.

"You can hang out with the freak if you want," she said, "I'm going home."

I didn't watch her leave. Instead, I started walking across the square, towards the boy. He didn't notice me. His eyes were focused on something across the street. I tried to find what he was staring at, but I couldn't see anything out of the ordinary.

"What are you looking at?" I asked.

"I'm not looking _at_ anything," he told me, "I'm looking _for_ someone."

"Who?"

"Key."

"Well, who's Key?"

"Key's a dog. He comes to school with me." He was still staring across the street.

"You don't go to school," I told him, "I don't ever see you there."

"It's a really long walk," he explained, "First I walk down the steps from my house, then I turn the corner by the general store. Then I walk past the bakery, and turn the other corner. Then I go back home."

"But when do you go to school?" I asked.

"I don't remember," he said, "Now I have to find Key." He continued to stare. I noticed the circles under his eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept in ages. Suddenly, his face lit up.

"There he is!" I still didn't see anything.

"Is Key your imaginary friend?" I asked him.

"I think so."

"Oh," I said after a pause, "Is he a good friend?"

"Yeah," replied the boy, "A really good friend. Better than the others."

"Really? What do the others do?"

"They want me to do bad stuff. Yell and kick and hit. Stuff my dad doesn't want me to do." His smile had disappeared.

"Oh," I said, "Do you…Do you listen to them?"

"Sometimes."

"Why?" The boy didn't respond, so I decided to drop the subject.

"What's your name?"

"Horatian."

"I'm Philemon," I introduced myself, "It's spelled like 'Phil Lemon', but with only one L."

That got a smile out of him. Not the frightening one from his walks through the square. Not the faraway one he got when he stared at Key. This one was real.

**Hope you enjoyed this chapter! If you want to hear more about Horatian and Philemon in the future, just review and tell me so I can add it to my chapter list! Thanks for reading!**


	9. Go Away, Kid

**I added another Philemon and Horatian chapter to my list of upcoming chapters! Now, we have gotten to... a CANON character! Please welcome District 2 future tribute Cato Bailor to the story :)**

_"I would rather walk with a friend in the dark, than alone in the light." -Helen Keller_

Chapter Nine: Go Away, Kid

"Go away, kid." Cato told the twelve-year-old. He must have said it nearly twenty times by now. Not including the occasions that he'd yelled it. But the boy—Rufus, he'd said—wouldn't leave him alone. He had been shadowing Cato all throughout the training day, attempting to copy whatever he did.

It was people like these who made Cato see red.

"How do you throw a spear like that?" asked Rufus, "I've tried a lot, but it usually hits the wall." Cato didn't think this kid had shut his mouth once the entire day.

"Go aw—" Cato was interrupted by a shout from across the room.

"Have you found yourself a fan already, Bailor?" jeered Felix. Lucius laughed, and the sound made Cato's blood boil.

"_Shut up!_" he yelled back, a lot louder than he should have. Rufus jumped.

"Bailor!" shouted the Head Trainer. Cato wordlessly picked up another spear and turned back to the target. He drew back his arm, prepared to channel his anger into the throw.

"Weren't you training at the shooting range with him a while ago?" asked Rufus. Cato started, and his spear flew off-center. He whipped around.

"Quit it, will you?!" Rufus opened his mouth to say something, but then thought better of it.

"You've been following me around all day!" exclaimed Cato, "What's it going to take?! Just leave me alone!" Rufus shrunk back. He mumbled something Cato couldn't hear, and walked away. Finally.

It had been a week since Cato had made it past the tribute trials. At District 2's Training Center, everything was planned ahead of time. The trials were fights with the other Careers-in-training. District 2's own small-scale Hunger Games. The hopefuls had to make it through to be considered as a volunteer. Cato had done it, and he was going into the Hunger Games this year. He should be happy. Thrilled, even.

But Felix, Lucius, and even Rufus were bent on ruining it for him.

Felix Elder had been one of Cato's good friends. He was also eighteen, and had hoped to volunteer. But now that Cato was going into the Games, he wouldn't have a chance. And this was the reason, Cato decided, that Felix always seemed determined to make him miserable.

Well, it wasn't going to work.

Then there was Lucius Bracken, a sixteen-year-old who was deadly with a bow and arrows. He, of course, still had time to volunteer. So he couldn't be as angry as Felix. Unless, of course, he decided to remain a brain-dead lackey rather than taking the opportunity to become his own person for once. He backed up every one of Elder's jibes with a smirk or, more often than not, laughter.

It was common knowledge in District 2: You didn't laugh at Cato Bailor unless you wanted to end up seriously injured. His short fuse was famous throughout the district. He had boarded at the Training Center since he was twelve, and trained seven days a week for the Games. He was known to hospitalize people during practice fights. What he could do when the fighting was real, only Cato knew.

The thing about him was, he couldn't shake off insults. Clove Mallon, a girl two or three years younger than him that he had come to know over the years, was the type of person who could ignore anything you said. It would still infuriate her, but at least she could save her anger for later. Cato hated to admit it, but he admired her for keeping herself composed—most of the time. The rare times she unleashed her fury were the times when people questioned her sanity. Cato was the only one who noticed her self-control.

When Cato got angry, rage blinded him. He couldn't think, couldn't stop himself from doing something he'd later regret. Clearly they hadn't taken note of that during the tribute trials. Or maybe they had. No one knew what the trainers looked for each year. It had been a week, and they were still deciding on who the female tribute would be.

The final person, who ended up driving Cato to his breaking point, was Rufus. The kid's first reaping was this year, and it seemed like he'd just moved into the dorms with the others. A newbie. He hadn't meant any harm. He'd been freaking annoying, though.

Cato picked up another spear and hurled it at the target. It hit the center, but the soon-to-be Career felt no satisfaction. He was in too foul a mood to appreciate anything. He hoped the two weeks would pass quickly. Then, he would be in the Capitol. Away from everyone here; everyone who was _driving him insane_.

"Bailor!" Felix was right behind him now. "Wh—"

Cato couldn't take it. His fist swung around, slamming right into Felix's face. Felix stumbled back, blood pouring out of his crooked nose.

"What's wrong with you?!"

"You're eighteen," said Cato through gritted teeth, "Get a job."

Cato left the Training Center after that. He wasn't about to hang around and wait for the Head Trainer to come and yell at him. He walked down the street, not knowing exactly where he was heading. He lived in the Training Center dormitories, like a lot of the teenagers who trained there. Without meaning to, he ended up at the slate quarry. This was the oldest one in the district; it had been abandoned years ago. It had always been a good place to think.

He wasn't alone, though. A small boy with light-colored hair sat on one of the rocks, staring at something in the grass. Rufus. He looked up when he heard the older boy coming.

"Hey—" Cato began. Rufus's eyes narrowed.

"I know. 'Go away, kid!' Right? What, is this your place?" he said snidely, "Do I have to leave you be?" Cato opened his mouth to argue, but Rufus didn't let him. "You know what, Bailor? You don't _own_ the quarry!"

"I'm not making you leave," said Cato. Rufus seemed surprised. Maybe even a bit disappointed that he couldn't continue his rant.

"Oh," he said after a moment, "Well if you were, I wouldn't."

"I know."

"Good." There was a long pause before Rufus spoke again. "Why are you here, then?" Cato debated on whether or not to answer.

"I didn't feel like being yelled at by the Head Trainer."

"The Head Trainer yells at people?" asked Rufus. Despite himself, Cato laughed.

"All the time! You don't have to be doing anything wrong, either." Rufus didn't respond. Cato found himself taking pity on the boy.

"Hey, it's not as bad as they make it out to be. Besides, you don't _have_ to train here."

"I do. If you're not adopted by the time you're twelve, the home sends you to board at the Training Center to make room."

"Oh," said Cato after a pause, "That…"

"Really sucks?" suggested Rufus.

"Yeah," agreed Cato. "I came here to board at twelve, too."

"You did? But you're not from—"

"No," said Cato, "But it wasn't my choice, either."

"Nothing ever is here," remarked Rufus, "They just make all the choices for you."

"You'll get used to it." Cato cracked a smile.

"Easy for you to say! I can't even throw a spear straight!" exclaimed Rufus.

"You're only twelve. You've got plenty of time to learn," Cato pointed out, "If you want, I can show you how."

"Really?" Rufus's face lit up.

"Yeah," said Cato, "We have a few more hours, right?" Rufus nodded. The two boys stood up and started walking back to the Training Center. They could get back to the spear station without the Head Trainer catching him, Cato thought.

Probably.

**Did I get Cato in character? Please review!**

**Next, I decided I couldn't wait for another Horatian and Philemon chapter, so…they're next!**


	10. Destroy The Evidence

**Here's another Horatian and Philemon chapter! In this one, Horatian is 17 and Philemon is 18 :)**

"_A friend is one who knows you and loves you just the same." –Elbert Hubbard_

Chapter Ten: Destroy The Evidence

It's been nearly a week since we made it to District 13. Two is no longer safe. Powerful rebel forces have been sent to seize control there, but our district has always been fiercely loyal to the Capitol. They can and will resist change.

But then there are those of us, those few, who joined the resistance. Most are people I have never met, but they all seem to know each other well. Except for Horatian, my best friend from home. We fled our district together. Soon, I might have to leave him on his own. That's what I'm afraid of.

Horatian suffers from frequent hallucinations. Some are good, and some terrify him. He lives in a different world; he always has. He spends plenty of time trying to get me to understand, too. It seems like it helps for him to have someone to talk with, but sometimes it frustrates him that I can't see things like he does.

I walk through the hall—in Thirteen, they're all tunnels, though the citizens do their best to hide the fact that the entire district is underground—heading for Horatian's compartment. He spends a lot of time in his room these days. Usually, I have to go over and check on him myself. But today, he's called me there, which must mean bad news. Horatian doesn't invite people over to chat.

My friend opens the door before I can knock.

"C'mon," he motions for me to come inside, looking a bit panicked. I want to dismiss it as one of his delusions, but the fear always looks so _real_ on him. Too genuine to be something fabricated in his mind. But it's his sickness every time, without fail. We're safe here for now; we don't have cause to be scared.

Somehow, I doubt Horatian would be afraid in a situation where he _should_ fear for his life. And it's dangerous, especially with the war we're fighting now. When I think about it, our safe haven in District 13 could be destroyed any day now.

He shuts the door quickly behind me, though he's cautious to keep it from slamming. The fear is still there.

"What is it?" I ask him, "What's wrong?"

"You're going to training tomorrow," he tells me. Here, everyone over the age of fourteen trains for battle. I'm eighteen years old now, so it's definitely time I learned to use a gun properly. I'll need it, if they decide to send me to one of the districts as a soldier. And they will, since the rebels need all the help they can get.

"Yes…"

"I want to fight, too." I shouldn't be surprised like this. Horatian, like me, has gone through Career training in Two. It's hard to avoid a fight when you've learned battle skills so early. But Hunger Games training and war training are two very different things. And they have different requirements, as well.

"Horatian," I say, "You know they're not going to let you…"

"Yeah, they won't," he says, "They think I'm crazy, but I'm not."

"I know you're not crazy. But you're sick, and they can prove it. They have the files from your appointment." Just like that, the fear is gone from Horatian's expression. The wide grin that replaces it unnerves me slightly. He knows something.

"Not anymore, they don't," he says. All at once, I realize what has happened.

"You didn't…" Horatian, still grinning, holds up a thick file, the papers bound together by a rubber band. _Horatian Dare_ is printed on the label in black ink. It looks like he's yanked it right out of a file cabinet.

"Sable told me where it was. No one was around."

_Sable isn't real!_ Hallucinations can't give directions. Can they? Sable, one of Horatian's recurring delusions, seems to have a talent for it. But no matter how he figured out where they kept his medical file, this could get him—both of us—in enormous trouble.

"You have to put that back," I tell him.

"I will. As soon as I destroy the evidence." He snaps the rubber band, opens the file, and starts sorting through the papers. This can't happen. He can't cause trouble here; this is the only place we have left. I try to take the file from him, but he pushes my arm away.

"No! Philemon!" he says, louder than he probably means to, "I have to!"

"Just because they're telling you to doesn't mean you have to do it!" I don't notice I'm shouting until after I finish.

"They're not telling," Horatian says, focusing on the papers again, "I have to train. I have to fight. I _have_ _to_." He shuffles the file's contents around, trying to keep them in order as he searches. Finally, he finds the pages he's looking for. The pages that would prevent him from training to fight in the rebellion. He turns back to me.

"You have to let me do it, or else you're going to tell them."

"Horatian…"

"Say you won't."

"Please, don't do this. You're safe here. If you'd just—"

"No one's safe here!" Horatian explodes. "Just say you won't!" I hesitate, and the silence is painful to both of us.

"Fine. I won't," I say. Horatian tears at the pages, ripping them to illegible pieces.

_Now he's in danger, just like the rest of us_… I think. Those papers would have kept him in Thirteen. Now he's going to go out into battle and get himself killed. Why did I let him do it? How is this any different from keeping him away from the arena?

Horatian has a smile on his face now, though I can see in his eyes that he's noticed my expression.

"Be careful. Okay?" It's all I can ask of him now. There's a long pause. Then, Horatian looks up, locking eyes with me.

"Only if you are."

**Sorry for that slightly depressing chapter. They have their ups and downs, especially in Thirteen. I'll tell you that they both live through the rebellion, though!**


	11. You Don't Care

**OK, so I'm back! It's Spring Break for me, so I've got a lot of time to write :) Here's one about a troubled District Seven 8 year old named Cacelia Hyasin.**

"_Friendship is a full time job. You can't pick and choose when you want to be nice to someone because if you push someone far enough, they won't come back." –Nishan Panwar_

Chapter Eleven: You Don't Care

Cacelia swung down from the tree branch, her hair flying up behind her as she fell through the air. It was a long way to drop, but the eight-year-old knew exactly what she was doing.

Etta gave a yelp of surprise as the smaller girl landed in front of her. Cacelia nearly lost her balance, but steadied herself before she could tumble to the ground. She brushed a strand of jet-black hair behind her ear, grinning.

"Did you see that?" she exclaimed, pointing up at the tree. Her friend nodded mutely, and Cacelia frowned. Etta's brother, Marcin, had been reaped two days ago. Since then, her best friend had barely said a word. Definitely not her cheerful, talkative self.

Cacelia, on the other hand, was untroubled. Marcin was thirteen, she reasoned, a teenager already. Even if he couldn't win, he'd at least make it pretty far. Etta always talked about how her brother was strong and brave. District 7 hadn't had a victor in a long time—not while Cacelia was alive, anyway.

Cacelia often thought about the Hunger Games in this way. It was all about strategy. In the Capitol, they wanted to make the Games more of a show than a fight. Of course, the fighting was a huge and very exciting part of it, but the show was what really mattered. In order to get help in the arena, they had to notice you. Win the favor of the audience, and you'd make it through the Games. Simple as that.

So how come Etta couldn't see it?

"Etta," Cacelia began, "Marcin isn't stupid."

"I know that," Etta shot back defensively.  
"Then why don't you think he can win?" Etta hesitated before answering.

"He's not a killer…" she said, her voice quiet. Cacelia almost laughed. It was so obvious to her. She found it strange that no one else could understand things like she did.

"You _have_ to kill to win, so what he does in the arena won't count," she explained.

"It's still going to count to him." Etta looked away.

"How do you know?" asked Cacelia, "Maybe he's really good at it." Etta's eyes widened in horror.

"No!"

"Why not?"

"Marcin won't kill people!"

"Then he'll lose," said Cacelia bluntly. Etta, growing more upset, tried to blink away tears. The other girl waited patiently for her to recover. Cacelia didn't cry in front of people if she could help it. And she usually could.

"How could you say that?" said Etta, wiping her eyes.

"Because it's true," said Cacelia matter-of-factly, "If you don't kill, you die." She was beginning to get frustrated, though she tried not to show it. Why wouldn't Etta accept the truth? Marcin needed to kill people. Cacelia didn't think it was as horrible as people made it out to be. It was just an obstacle in the way of victory. If Marcin couldn't overcome the barriers standing between him and District 7, then he _wasn't_ going to make it home.

"That's not true!" exclaimed Etta, "You're making it all up, because you don't care what happens to him!" This made Cacelia angry.

"I didn't make it up!" she argued, "Besides, I thought you knew! You're family's already mourning!" Etta's face flushed bright red with fury.

"You're lying!" she yelled, "You're a rotten liar, Cacelia, and a bully, and a-a _freak_! I never want to see you again!" With that, she spun around and started running.

Suddenly, Cacelia wanted to be as far away from there as possible. She took off, sprinting deeper and deeper into the woods. Because Etta was right about her! She made up stories like a liar. She teased her classmates like a bully. She dreamed about the Games like a freak.

But she cried like an eight-year-old.

**Here's what happened next: Marcin died in the bloodbath. Etta didn't speak to Cacelia for a long time... And for a while, she didn't have to see her, either. Cacelia's parents sent her to District Two to train (Traveling to another district is challenging but possible with the right amount of money). Cacelia volunteered for the 73rd Games. To her surprise, Etta came to say goodbye to her in the Justice Building. Unfortunately, Cacelia died in 3rd place.**


	12. I'm Fine

**Remember Splendor from Chapter 1? Meet his sister, Flash :)**

"_Well, I think we tried very hard not to be overconfident, because when you get overconfident, that's when something snaps up and bites you." –Neil Armstrong_

Chapter Twelve: I'm Fine

Flash Laureate was the picture of self-assurance. She stood up straight and tall, walking into the District 1 Training Center like she owned the place. Fighting with a pair of long swords, she was unbeatable. And someday soon—this year, in fact—she was going to win the Hunger Games. _Laureate_. It was practically in the name. She felt like a victor every day.

Except today. Today, Flash Laureate was sick, and she felt like dirt. Her nose was running, her throat felt like she'd swallowed a tangle of barbed wire, and she could barely keep her eyes open. It would have been a perfect day to stay home.

Except that wasn't Flash's plan. She went to training early, just like any other day. Her younger brother, Splendor, walked alongside her.

"Are you okay?" he asked. Flash nodded.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Fantastic. Her voice scratched like sandpaper. Splendor looked up at her doubtfully.

"If you say so…" He knew something was up. She could see it in his eyes. But he also knew better than anyone that Flash wasn't about to stay home from training. Not when she was planning on volunteering in a few months. So to Flash's relief, he kept quiet.

A short while later, they arrived at the Training Center. Beacon, the Head Trainer, gave them a curt nod as they walked in. Flash had a particular dislike for Beacon, as he regularly tried to make training miserable for her. It wasn't uncommon for him to make her switch weapons during a practice fight, or force her to learn bizarre survival skills that wouldn't be necessary in any arena. He claimed he was challenging Flash, but he probably just hated her.

Splendor headed for the axes, his newfound weapon of choice. Flash remembered when she'd discovered the twin swords. She was around his age, about nine years old. Ever since then, she'd always started the training day at the swords station. She headed there now, picking up her favorite weapons from the rack, a pair of identical blades. She chose a cloth dummy at random and began to practice.

Soon enough, the other Careers-in-training started to come in. The Training Center quickly filled with the discordant sounds of clashing weapons. Flash was already getting tired, much faster than she did on an average day. In a few minutes, she took a break to get a drink.

She filled her canteen and took a sip of water, which felt blissfully cool against her raw throat. Flash sat down and watched the others train for a minute, drinking slowly from her water bottle. She felt her eyes closing.

The next thing she knew, she was staring up at an angry-looking Head Trainer. She blinked, confused. Beacon? What did he want?

"Laureate."

"Yeah?"

"If you want to sleep during the training day, you don't come to training," he said. She had been _sleeping_?! That was impossible! She couldn't sleep during training. Not when the reaping was only a few months away.

"I-I wasn't sleeping," Flash stammered. Her voice caught in her throat on the last word, and she started coughing.

"You're sick. Go home, Laureate," said Beacon, nodding towards the door.

"I'm fine," protested Flash, pulling herself to her feet. She began to make her way back to the swords station. Beacon held out his arm to stop her.

"If you don't leave, you can't come back." It was just like Beacon to drain all the humor out of that expression. Flash sighed.

"Five minutes," said Beacon, "When I come back, you'll be on your way home. Got it?"

"Got it," said Flash bitterly. She fought the urge to make a face at him as he turned his back.

_You're seventeen_, she told herself, _Stop being childish._

When Beacon had disappeared, Flash grabbed her bag and headed to the swords station. She took the twin swords—_her_ twin swords—locked them into their case, and stuffed them inside the pack. She'd get some practice in today no matter what Beacon had to say about it. Flash turned around, ready to go home, and nearly tripped over her brother.

"Flash? Where are you going?" asked Splendor.

"Home," she told him, "Beacon's kicking me out today."

"Oh," said Splendor. There was a pause, and Flash began walking again. It wasn't until she was five feet away from the door that she heard her brother's voice again.

"The weapons are sticking out of your backpack." Flash cursed, looked over her shoulder, and tried to shove the case further into the pack. To no avail. The swords were too long for her bag.

"Why are you doing this? You can just come back tomorrow," said Splendor. He was standing next to her again.

"I can't afford to miss a day," said Flash. She gave up on forcing the case inside her backpack. "I have to go, Splend."

"You're going to get in huge trouble…" Splendor was more worried about it than she was.

"I won't," she said, and continued out the door. Splendor followed her.

"Flash!"

"Splendor, I'll be fine!" exclaimed Flash, "Just don't worry about it, okay?" She left her brother at the door of the Training Center. She didn't look back; she knew he was watching her go.

Since the sword case sticking out of her backpack was incredibly conspicuous, Flash cut through the woods on her way home. Unfortunately, she found, the sparse trees ended when she reached the square. The center of town was buzzing with people running errands, or just walking around, doing normal Saturday things. Flash had to walk through on her way home. She took a deep breath.

_I can do this._

Flash came out from the cover of the trees and walked into the square. She kept an eye out for Peacekeepers, but there seemed to be no sign of them. She had been in multiple fights at the Training Center, challenged with a variety of deadly weapons. But carrying two swords in the middle of the square was the most dangerous thing she'd ever done. Training for the Games was illegal. So was even owning a weapon, especially a pair of fatally sharp twin swords.

_It's only illegal if you get caught._ Flash thought to herself. Despite how rotten she felt today, the corner of her mouth turned up in a smirk. This was easy.

"Hey, you!" Flash swore under her breath. It looked like she'd spoken too soon. She kept walking, hoping the shout wasn't directed at her.

It was. Though she lengthened her strides and tried to blend into the crowd, the Peacekeeper soon caught up with her. She turned to face him, her heart pouding inside her chest.

"Yeah?"

"What's in your backpack?"

"Nothing."

"It doesn't look like nothing to me. It looks like a weapon case." He nodded to Flash's backpack.

"It _looks_ like a weapon case," admitted Flash, "But it's a case for other things."

"Like what?"

"Like…" Flash's head hurt. She couldn't think clearly enough.

"Give it to me," said the Peacekeeper, holding out his hand. Slowly, Flash shrugged the pack off her shoulders and handed it to him.

Then she ran for the woods.

* * *

"Hey Flash," said Splendor, closing the front door behind him, "Feeling better?"

"Yeah," Flash nodded. She was feeling much better, especially since she escaped the Peacekeeper and found her way back home. It was a shame to lose the swords, though… Beacon would probably murder her, but at least the Head Trainer wouldn't shoot her in the middle of the street. She'd face him over the Peacekeepers any day.

Flash and Splendor talked in the kitchen, their voices filling the otherwise empty house. Their parents often came home late from work, so the two siblings were used to being alone. Flash tensed when she heard a knock at the door.

"I'll get it," said Splendor, getting up from the table.

"No," said Flash, a little too quickly, "I've got it." She pushed aside her chair and went to the door. When she looked through the front window, she stopped in the middle of the hall.

"Splendor?"

"Yeah?" Splendor called from the next room.

"Go upstairs."

"Why?"

"Just do it, okay?" Flash heard Splendor's footsteps on the staircase, and opened the door. There stood three Peacekeepers. One held her backpack, half open. _Flash Laureate_ was written on the inside.

Flash didn't hear anything the Peacekeepers said as they grabbed her arms and yanked her outside. She struggled to escape their grip, but was subdued by a vicious blow to the head. They dragged her, dazed, to the square.

The next thing she knew, her hands were tied down. She looked around at the faces of the bystanders. Many of them turned away and continued walking. Flash wanted to call out to them, but somehow knew it would be no use.

"Let me go! Let me go, —" Flash tried to think of a word that would come close to the hatred she felt towards her captors, but was interrupted by a sickening crack and a blinding pain across her back. Flash gasped.

The Peacekeeper standing over her held a whip. Flash stared up at him without speaking, trying to ignore the sting.

"One." The Peacekeeper snapped down his whip again. _Crack!_ "Two." _Crack!_ Flash surpressed a scream as the whip slashed her. "Three."

The torture continued, each lash tearing Flash's shirt, cutting into her back. Her vision came in and out of focus, and she saw that the ground was stained with red. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out, so hard her mouth filled with the taste of blood.

"Fifteen. Sixteen."

"Flash!" She could hear Splendor yelling. Flash wanted to call back to him, but he seemed so far away now. Her brother faded away, along with everything around her.

**Sorry for another depressing one! Even Careers don't have it perfect… I'll try to write a lighter one next time :) Anyway, you know that Flash died in the Games that year and that Splendor was "kidnapped" two years later. He made it through the rebellion, though! :) Reviews are much appreciated! :)**


	13. Brave

**This is Delilah, an eleven-year-old girl from District 5, and her friend, Gavin.**

"_I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear." –Nelson Mandela_

Chapter Thirteen: Brave

Delilah fidgeted nervously, keeping her eyes on her friend. Gavin had turned twelve that year, and was standing in the roped off section for kids that were eligible for the reaping. He looked petrified. Delilah's eleventh birthday had been a few days ago, but she wished she could stand there with him. _Someone_ needed to tell him he was going to be fine.

The mayor finished his speech, handing the microphone back over to the Capitol escort. Delilah's fingernails dug into the palms of her hands. Gavin was from a family of six, and the oldest of four siblings. At age twelve, his name would be in the reaping bowl seven times.

"Let's start with the ladies!" exclaimed the escort, her face lighting up in a grin. She reached into one of the reaping bowls and pulled out a slip of paper.

"Astraea Boudreau!" Delilah didn't recognize her name. Or her face, when she finally shuffled forward from the fourteen-year-old section. The escort was already digging around in the other glass bowl. Delilah's heart pounded.

_Not Gavin. Not Gavin. Not Gavin._

"Isaac Stewart!" Delilah breathed a sigh of relief, earning her a few strange looks from the people standing closest to her. A tall boy with blonde hair, who she assumed must be Isaac, walked to the stage from the front of the audience. The escort asked Isaac and Astraea to shake hands.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your tributes for the forty-seventh annual Hunger Games, Astraea Boudreau and Isaac Fredericks!" A halfhearted round of applause rippled through the crowd, and the new tributes disappeared into the Justice Building.

Delilah ducked under the rope and ran right to the twelve-year-old section, where she threw her arms around Gavin.

"You're safe!" she exclaimed. Gavin was smiling.

"Now I just have…" he thought about it, "six more years to go, and then I'm free!" Delilah pushed him. The eleven-year-old was quite small for her age, and didn't have a violent bone in her body, so her friend wasn't even thrown off balance.

"Don't talk like that!" she scolded, "Just say, now I'm safe for a whole year!" Gavin grinned at her.

"Fine. Now I'm safe for a whole year!" he declared. The two friends started walking out of the square, ready to head back home.

"I got you something," said Delilah, "To congratulate you for making it through."

"But you didn't know I would make it," Gavin pointed out.

"Yeah? Well, it could have worked just as well as a tribute token," Delilah countered. Gavin laughed.

"Point taken," he said. Delilah smiled and took something out of the pocket of her reaping dress. She had hated the pocket nearly as much as she hated the dress, but lately it had come in handy. She handed the object to Gavin.

"A rock?" he asked.

"Not _just_ a rock. A rock from the Ownsby House," Delilah sang. Gavin's eyes widened. He held the rock up to the light.

"No way," he said, "You mean you—"

"Walked right up to the front porch and picked up a rock on my way to the reaping." Delilah said proudly.

The Ownsby House had been around long before Delilah and Gavin were born. It was built on the edge of the district, tall, wooden, and awfully battered-looking. Two people once lived there, a man and his wife. Until ten years before, when the man died of an unknown cause. There were plenty of rumors about the widow who lived there now. Sometimes people said she was a witch. More often, they said she was crazy. That she had killed her husband herself. Delilah thought that was a potentially logical explanation for why she always kept herself locked up in the house (though in her opinion, the witch one made for a better story). But no one had ever offered a reason for the big pile of small rocks on her front porch. And Delilah hadn't thought of one herself, either.

"This is such a fake," said Gavin, shaking his head.

"Is not!" protested Delilah, "I got it right by the door!"

"Not true. I just can't see you doing that."

"Well, I did!"

"Show me," Gavin challenged jokingly. At first Delilah hesitated. The last thing she wanted to do was go back to that house. But one look at the grin on Gavin's face made her determined. It wouldn't be _that_ bad, especially not the second time around. Couldn't she do it again? Yes, she decided. She'd show Gavin how she had taken a rock from the porch of the Ownsby House. She was brave, and she could prove it.

"I will!" she said, and started walking.

"Really?" Obviously Gavin hadn't expected her to agree. He followed her, though he was looking a little uncertain. Delilah grinned.

"Come on, chicken!" She broke into a run, "The sooner we get there, the sooner I can prove you're wrong!"

* * *

The house looked a lot creepier in person. The old wooden structure stretched high above their heads. The thick branches of the trees tried to block the sun, making the already cloudy sky seem like night. The house's screen-covered windows were dark, and it looked like no one was home.

Delilah stood in the middle of the pathway, staring at the four steps that led up to the porch.

"Delilah!" Gavin finally caught up with her, "Wait!"

"What?"

"You don't have to do it," he said, "I was just joking." Delilah looked at him, confused. It wasn't a big deal, not anymore. She'd run up there and take a rock, just like she'd done that morning. It took her a moment to red his expression, but when she did, a grin spread across her face.

"Gavin Freeman, are you _scared_?"

"What? No! Just….Just scared for _you_, that's all." Delilah rolled her eyes.

"Come on." She grabbed his hand and dragged him over to the steps. "Four steps. Easy enough." Gavin didn't respond, so Delilah took a deep breath and climbed the first step. To her relief, nothing horrible happened.

"One," she said slowly. She tugged on her friend's hand, and Gavin came up with her.

"Two... Three..." She kept going, Gavin following without a word.

"Four." Delilah bent down and picked up a rock from the porch. She turned to Gavin.

"There," she said, placing the rock in his free hand, "Was that so h—"

"GET OUT!" The door swung open, nearly knocking Delilah off her feet. The little girl screamed.

"GET AWAY FROM MY HOUSE!" The old woman shrieked. Delilah and Gavin didn't have to be told twice. After almost falling down the four porch steps, they hurtled across the path, into the trees, and out of sight.

* * *

"Never again!" declared Gavin, breathing heavily as they slowed down.

"Sorry…" gasped Delilah, "I didn't….know….she was home!" There was a brief silence as they tried to catch their breaths, panting and wheezing. Then, they dissolved into laughter.

"We didn't even have to go! I was joking!"

"Your joke had some punch line, Gav!" giggled Delilah.

"Oh, it gets better," Gavin told her, trying to recover.

"Does it?"

"Yeah," he said, looking slightly sheepish. "I dropped both the rocks back on the porch."

"Gavin!" said Delilah, "Do you know what that means?!" The smile dropped from Gavin's face.

"I'm sorry, Delilah…" Delilah looked away. "What does it mean?"

Delilah glanced back up at him. And she was grinning again.

"It means, now we have to go back."

**Well, that was my attempt at writing a lighter chapter :) Tell me what you think, and I'll PM you what happens to these two in the future!**


	14. Stories And The People Who Tell Them

**Another light chapter to make up for all the depressing ones! :)**

"_Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten." –G.K. Chesterton_

Chapter Fourteen: Stories

The Filburn Home for Children. As orphanages go, it's an okay place. There are worse ones out there; I've heard from the others, the ones who skip around more than I do. In some places, I've heard, they only feed you once a day. It's kind of dirty here, and the people here will lash out at you if you're being irritating. But I've lived at Filburn my entire life. And I don't exactly have another place to call home. Plus, my family's here.

You could tell me they aren't my true family, though I probably won't listen. Sure, they aren't my biological family, but it doesn't make them any less real. Kids here come and go—what with all the MIAs from the rebellion turning up left and right—but there are a few of us who have stuck together through everything, and some bonds are just as thick as blood. There's Daphne, who's fourteen; The twins, Leto and Wilbur, who are both nine; Franklin, eight; and Laurie, six, who is the newest member of our little family.

My name is Terrence, and I'm sixteen. In two years, I'm getting out of here and starting a life of my own. And who knows? With a bit of luck, I might be able to take the others with me.

We've had some good times here, that's true. We play kickball. Talk about stuff, exchange jokes and stories. The twins like to pull tricks on people sometimes, which is pretty entertaining to watch. But then, there's also the not-so-good times. That's what's going on right now. Our family's short one member.

They picked Harvey for the fifth Hunger Games a few months ago. He was thirteen, and he didn't last through the first day. It hurts to think about it, and I don't think that's ever going to change.

During not-so-good times like these, the absolute worst thing you can do is concentrate on what's wrong. Unless you can fix it, which isn't possible in our case. So regularly, I make an attempt to get everyone to focus on something else for a change. Something like a story.

"Once upon a time—"

"You can't start a story like that!" complains Leto, crossing her arms.

"Really? I know a lot of pretty good ones that start like that," I tell her.

"Well, sure," she says, "But those are someone else's stories."

"True," I say, "How about…" I lower my voice to nearly a hiss. "_It was a dark and stormy night!_"

"I like that one," says Wilbur with a grin. That's something I like about him. He's always preferred my horror stories. Leto sticks her tongue out at her brother.

"How do you start an adventure story?" asks Franklin.

"An adventure?" I ask, "Hm. I guess you'd start by telling about the hero. Say…There once was a _blank_ from _blank_. Then you fill in the blanks. Yeah?"

"Yeah!" says three out of the four kids sitting on the floor with me. I don't expect Laurie to respond—she's a quiet one—so I continue.

"Now we just need…" I trail off. We're missing someone. "Gimme a second." I stand up and walk out into the hallway, shutting the door behind me. Daphne sits against the wall outside the bedroom.

"You going to listen or what?" I ask her. "They'll come up for lights out in a few minutes, we don't have that much time."

"No. Stories are stupid." She doesn't turn to look at me. "I'm too old for this."

"I think I should probably be offended by that." I take a seat next to her. "Since I'm two years older than you, and _I_ happen to love a good story." Daphne doesn't respond.

"But I'm not offended. You know why?"

"Why?" She turns to face me, and her eyes are tinged red behind her glasses.

"Because you're wrong," I say matter-of-factly, "C'mon, let's go in." I stand and hold out my hand to help her up.

"What was that?"

"Just the truth. It's called tough love," I explain. After a moment's hesitation, she cracks a smile.

"Fine, I'm coming." She takes my hand and pulls herself into a standing position. We go back into the room, where the younger kids are waiting.

"So, where were we?" I ask, sitting back down on the floor.

"We just need…" prompts Franklin.

"Ah! Right! We just need a hero."

"A _blank_ from _blank_," says Leto.

"Okay," I point at Wilbur. "First blank."

"A…monster?" he asks.

"Sure." I point to little Laurie. "Second blank?" Laurie shakes her head, and I turn to Daphne.

"Your go." Daphne thinks about it.

"From under the bed," she decides, smiling slightly. I nod.

"So, now what? What's special about this monster?"

"He eats people at night!" says Wilbur.

"He could steal people's dirty socks!" says Franklin.

"He's friendly!" suggests Leto.

"Maybe all three," says Laurie quietly.

"All three?" asked Leto, "That's impossible."

"Nothing's impossible," I say, "Maybe he's…a nasty, people-eating, dirty sock-stealing nocturnal monster who lives under the bed. Then he goes on an adventure and eventually becomes friendly." Laurie grins.

"I want to hear that one!" laughs Franklin. For the first time in a long time, we're all smiling at once.

"Alright," I say.

"Lights out!" calls a voice from the hallways. That wipes the smiles off our faces pretty quick. I bite my lip to keep from swearing out loud. None of us are where we're supposed to be. Leto opens her mouth to say something.

"Sh!" I whisper, and flick out the lights, "Stay still, stay quiet!" A whole minute passes, not one of us moving a muscle. Even the sound of breathing grows slightly quieter as we wait.

"I think it's safe," says Daphne, looking outside through the crack between the door and the wall. It's still pitch-dark in the room, but I don't think anyone cares. It just makes it easier to imagine the story.

"Right," I say, my voice just above a whisper, "Now, there once was a monster who lived under the bed…"

**Terrence is picked for the Hunger Games that year, and does not return :( What a depressing end to a less depressing chapter…Sorry.**


	15. Watch It Burn

**And we're back to the depressing chapters…If you've been reading The Highlights, I'm reintroducing another one of the characters :) If you know her well, you'll be able to tell who she is by the quote XD**

_"Love is like a friendship caught on fire. In the beginning of a flame, very pretty, often hot and fierce, but still only light and flickering. As love grows older, our hearts mature and our love becomes as coals, deep-burning and unquenchable." –Bruce Lee_

Chapter Fifteen: Watch It Burn

The young victor had only just turned nineteen. There was time for her to find another lover. Maybe even time to discover someone who would care for her even more. He wasn't perfect, after all.

But that wasn't the problem.

The problem was that he was dead, and it was Aurelia's fault. Entirely hers. She had gotten fed up with the Capitol. They acted like they owned her! Like she was theirs to…sell. The one time she had refused to do what they wanted, they blew up the only person in Panem Aurelia really did care about.

Aurelia reached her home. It had always been too large, too ostentatious for the new victor, who had grown up in a poor part of District 2. But today, it was just a symbol, the façade of wealth and fame victors had. Underneath all the paint, the house was just splintery wood, like every other structure in the district.

No one in District 2 ignored the fact that Aurelia was unstable. She always had been, even before her victory in the Games. Everyone had avoided her. Since her return from the arena, very few people had dared to speak to her. After all, you didn't play with fire unless you wanted to get burned. And the boy she loved had definitely gotten burned.

She didn't bother to slam the door shut behind her as she stormed inside. She wiped her face, trying in vain to stop the tears, and ran up the stairs. Once she reached her bedroom, she let out a scream.

Aurelia slammed her door shut and locked it tight. Where was it? Where was it?! She ran for the closet, tearing down every lavish piece of clothing her stylist had created for her; every dress she had worn on her Victory Tour. At the back of the closet, she found nothing. Next was the bathroom. She yanked open the cabinets, taking up each container and hurling it over her shoulder. It wasn't there.

By the time Aurelia checked under her mattress, she was losing control. Her hands were shaking; her face was pale and sweaty. She gripped the sides of the small metal box tightly and jerked it free of the mattress. Then, she carefully placed it on top of her bed, and pried open the lid.

Matches. Lighters. Every fire-starting tool Aurelia found had been locked away in this box. Sealed up and hidden, so the unstable victor wouldn't hurt herself or anyone else. Nearly three years had gone by. And she hadn't given in to the inclination.

Not yet.

Aurelia pushed aside the lighters—she preferred to do it the old fashioned way—and took up a matchbox. When she attempted to open it with her shaking hands, the matches launched themselves into the air, scattering all over the ground. Aurelia bit her lip and fumbled to pick one up. When she struck it against the box, a familiar thrill ignited inside her. She watched the flame spring up at the top of the match, the tiny orange glow reflecting in her dark eyes.

She felt herself let it go; watched the flickering light fall and set fire to the floor below. The flames started spreading across the wood immediately, very gradually eating away at her bedroom floor. The smoke thickened as the fire did, staining the ceiling black. Aurelia no longer had any need to wipe her eyes; the heat had dried her tears.

The young victor took a few steps away from the fire and sat down on the floor. She wanted to have time to watch the flames creeping toward her. There was an out of place sense of calm around her. Everything would turn out fine, now that she knew exactly what was happening.

If there was an afterlife, she thought as she gazed at her fire, she still wouldn't see her lover again. That was no surprise. They were always heading in different directions. People were dead because of Aurelia. The victor thought she deserved to burn.

But she had never been afraid of fire.

**That was extremely depressing, and I apologize. Let's have a more pleasant one next…A Capitol chapter!**


	16. Four-Eyes, Plain Jane and Motormouth

**Alright, time to make a more positive chapter for once! :)**

_"I find it's usually the bullies who are the most insecure." –Tom Felton_

Chapter Sixteen: Four-Eyes, Plain Jane and Motormouth

It was a frigid day in the Capitol. In the opinion of most of the third grade class standing outside, it was too cold to run around the playground. Only a few brave souls dared to touch the metal monkey bars this time of year. Some of the kids took refuge from the icy wind inside the cylindrical slide. Every so often, one of them would loose their footing, and four of five eight-year-olds would tumble out the other side.

Many of the other kids stood around the edge of the playground, talking with their friends. Balthazar Corman stood by himself, staring at the frosty grass from behind thick glasses. He had no one to talk to, as usual.

He didn't notice that a small girl named Claudia Crane was watching him from the other side of the playground, and thought he looked kind of lonesome.

"Hey, Balt!" she called, ignoring the protests of her friend. Balt looked up and pointed to himself. Claudia nodded, and motioned for him to come over. The lonely eight-year-old fought back a smile and started walking.

When Balt fell, he hit the frozen ground with a _thud_ and slid over the ice. His glasses flew off his face, and his classmates erupted into laughter. He could feel his cheeks going red, and it wasn't from the cold. The loudest hysterics came from right in front of him. He felt around the icy ground until he found his glasses.

Rena Saley stood over him, wearing a vibrantly colored coat that matched her purple-streaked curls. She covered her mouth with her gloved hands, though it didn't seem like a real attempt to stifle her laughter.

"Nice one, Four-Eyes!" she giggled, "You slid like, five feet that time! It's a new record!" Balt didn't respond. Instead, he struggled to a standing position, only to have Rena push him over.

"Hey!" someone shouted, "Leave him alone!" Balt looked up, and saw Claudia and her friend, a girl with freckles and bright-pink hair, walking towards them.

"What's up, Plain Jane?" asked Rena calmly. Claudia's biggest style alteration was pierced ears. The clothes she wore were usually dark and simple. She could be mistaken for a district kid if you didn't look twice. So she wasn't begging for attention. Why did everyone feel the need to tease her about it?

"Leave him alone," Claudia repeated.

"Why should I? Just because your dad's the Head Gamemaker doesn't mean you can tell us all what to do." Claudia didn't look hurt by this, but the pink-haired girl's expression twisted.

"She doesn't do that," she said, coming to the defense of her friend. Rena turned to face her.

"Yes, she does. And so do you, Motormouth, so back off."

"Shut up, Arena," snapped the pink-haired girl. Balt was astounded. The only people who called Rena Saley by her full name were substitute teachers and people with a death wish.

But surprisingly, the only thing Rena did was glare. It was the cold, Balt decided.

"C'mon." The pink-haired girl nodded to Claudia, who turned to Balt and held out her hand. Balt just looked at it. Earlier on, he would have jumped at the chance to make a friend or two. But now, he hesitated.

"I could've handled her on my own," he said, feeling embarrassed that he had needed the girls to help him out. The pink-haired girl laughed.

"No you cou—" Claudia shot her a glance, and she stopped talking.

"Sorry," said Claudia, "We just wanted to help." Balt didn't respond, so Claudia and her friend sat down on the ground beside him and resumed their conversation.

"I can't believe you called her Arena, Quint," giggled Claudia.

"I call people a lot of things," said the pink-haired girl, who must be called Quint, "She's lucky it was her name." Claudia laughed, and Balt couldn't help but smile. The two girls talked, and Balt listened, until recess was over.

When he finally spoke another word, it was "Thanks."

**My little Capitol kids, all in one chapter! Well, except for Rena's four-year-old brother, a little kid named Victor. Arena and Victor. Yeah, their family has some pretty screwed-up Games-names. Anyway, review please! :)**


	17. Spec And The Morphling

**SPECTER COOK! I've been waiting to write more about him ever since I posted his Highlights chapter. Here's a chapter about him when he was ten :)**

_"If you're going to kick authority in the teeth, you might as well use both feet." –Keith Richards_

Chapter Seventeen: Spec And The Morphling

"Hey, Spec! Think fast!" jeered one of Specter's classmates. Before the ten-year-old could turn around, someone shoved him hard from behind, sending him straight into the mud. Specter grimaced and used his sleeve to clear the dirt off his glasses. By the time he could see again, the other kids were running.

"I bet you think you're smart, coming up with that one!" Specter shouted at their retreating figures. "Yeah! You'd better run!" Of course, they didn't respond.

Specter picked himself up and wiped off some of the mud on his clothes. He was getting tired of telling these imbeciles they were saying his name wrong. It was Specter. It didn't mean he wore _spec_tacles. It didn't mean he was like a _spec_k of dust. In reality, his name meant ghost. Specter wasn't that, either, but at least ghosts were cool.

It wasn't a long walk home, but that's not where Specter was heading. His house would be empty, with his mother at work all day. He was walking to his uncle's shop, which was about the most entertaining place ever for a ten-year-old. Shelf after shelf of trinkets and baubles. You didn't see much beauty in a place like District 6. Specter figured it was because all that beauty was right there inside the curio shop.

"Uncle Mack?" called Specter as he opened the door. The shop looked empty, but Specter went inside anyway. "Are you in here?"

He didn't get a response, so he kept on walking. It wasn't a very big place. Mack had often told him with a laugh that he'd have started storing things on the second floor a long time ago if he'd had another place to sleep. The first floor was always a bit crowded, but Specter liked it that way. You could come in here and find something new every day.

Suddenly, a great crash came from the back room, resounding through the shop. Specter jumped so high he thought he might hit his head on the ceiling. Which was pretty impossible for a kid of Specter's size.

"Uncle Mack?" Specter had been given strict instructions never to go into the back room. But what if his uncle was in trouble? Specter opened the door and immediately took a step back. Instead of trinkets, this room had a similar collection of weapons lining the walls. Hunting knives, wooden bows and sharp arrows. The floor was piled with a number of sealed cardboard boxes. Mack was kneeling on the ground next to an open box, trying to clean up a mess of fluid and broken glass. He looked up.

"Specter! I thought I told you to stay out of here!" Specter shrunk back at his tone of voice.

"Sorry, I…I just—"

"Maybe you can help me. Go take some of those watches and sell them outside. Good?"

"But I can help you with this!" Specter knelt down beside his uncle.

"No!" Specter was shocked by the urgency in Mack's voice. He'd never seen his uncle like this before. After a moment, Mack appeared to realize that he was scaring his nephew.

"Listen, Specter. I'll tell you about it later. I just don't want you in the middle of it right now, okay? It's trouble. I don't want you getting in trouble." Specter nodded quickly and got to his feet again. He grabbed a handful of watches from a shelf as he ran out the door.

Specter fastened the watches onto his arm and started walking again. He tried to sell them to people in the square, but no one was buying today. There's something about ten-year-old kids covered head to toe in mud that doesn't make them good salesmen.

What was Mack doing? What was spilled over the floor of the back room, and why didn't his uncle want Specter to know what it was?

His questions would remain unanswered for two more years.

* * *

"You're a _drug dealer_?!" exclaimed twelve-year-old Specter Cook. Mack looked flustered.

"No, I'm not a drug dealer. Not exactly. But in a way, maybe. It's morphling," Mack explained.

"I know what morphling is!"

"Yes. Pain medication."

"Drugs," insisted Specter.

"Fine."

"And you're selling weapons!"

"For the hunters. Don't you ever wonder how some of the poorest people in the district avoid starving to death?"

"They don't. I…I see them, in the streets. They—"

"The smart ones hunt," interrupted Mack.

"You don't hu—" Specter cut himself off. "No…You do, don't you?"

"I consider myself quite the archer." Mack grinned before noticing Specter's expression. "Okay, not funny."

"Don't you know how much trouble you could get in?!"

"Yes," said Mack, "I do. I could be whipped. I could be shot and killed. But you know why I do it?" Specter didn't respond.

"I do it because you can't make a living with a curio shop in District 6. This benefits me, and my sister, and you. You've got to help me out, here. Just by keeping it from the Peacekeepers, okay?"

"What?" Specter was incredulous, "Why would I tell them _anything_?"

Mack's face lit up in a grin. "You know, I read somewhere that if you're going to kick authority in the teeth, you might as well use both feet."

**Rolling Stones XD LOL I couldn't help myself, I just like that quote. With all the antiques he's got in his shop, he probably read something about them! XD**


	18. Not So Star-Crossed

**Another Capitol chapter because I love my Capitol kids XD And hurray! A non-depressing chapter! Warning: contains Clato that may not be entirely canon, but whatever :)**

_"Sister is probably the most competitive relationship within the family, but once the sisters are grown, it becomes the strongest relationship." –Margaret Mead_

Chapter Eighteen: Not So Star-Crossed

"ASHYA!" yelled Quintica, "They're on! They're on!" The nine-year-old Capitolite bounced in her seat, calling for her sister. The sudden noise roused the family dog, an old bloodhound known as Sir Decibel, from his slumber.

"Sorry, Deci," whispered Quint when Sir Decibel raised his head. The dog blinked sleepily at her, as if wondering what the fuss was about.

The fuss was about Cato Bailor and Clove Mallon, the District 2 tributes in the Games this year. Quint and her older sister, Ashya, had been cheering them on since they set foot in the Capitol. With matching tens in training, they had the highest scores of all the tributes this year. Except for the Girl On Fire's eleven, of course. But she was obviously much less capable than Cato and Clove. During the bloodbath, Cato had speared a tribute from the other side of the battlefield. Clove had pitched throwing knives with astounding accuracy. Katniss, however, hadn't killed any of her competition! It was obvious to Ashya and Quint that District 2 would have a victor this year.

The only thing they couldn't agree on was which one of the District 2 tributes would win. Quint knew that Cato would do it, yet Ashya insisted that Clove would be the victor. The sisters were constantly arguing about the 74th Hunger Games.

"Ashya!" shouted Quint, "Come on! They're going hunting!" By this point in the Games, Cato and Clove were the only Careers left in the arena. When the two were together, Ashya and Quint were on the edge of their seats, waiting to see which one would turn on the other.

Finally, Ashya came into the room, her lavender-colored hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was wearing a blue "District 2" shirt, one Quint had never seen before. One of the perks of being seventeen, Quint thought bitterly, was that Ashya was allowed to go out without a chaperone.

"Honestly, Quint!" she said, "Can't I have a minute to get ready?"

"For what?" Quint scoffed, "We're watching TV." Ashya rolled her eyes and took a seat on the couch.

Onscreen, the Cato and Clove were walking through the forest, searching for traces of the other tributes. Ashya and Quint listened intently for signs of unease, but their conversation was casual. Normally, the Careers would seem tense or agitated before violently splitting their alliances.

"What are they doing?" asked Ashya, looking annoyed, "Clove's supposed to be the backstabber!"

"I guess you can't tell a tribute by their interview," muttered Quint.

"Well, you don't get much farther by stalking the Hunger Games website."

"I don't _stalk_ it!" Quint said defensively, standing up from the couch.

"Oh, yes you do! I'll bet you know the middle names of their siblings!" Ashya stood up as well, towering over her little sister.

"They don't even have siblings!" argued Quint. Ashya grinned down at her.

"I rest my case."

"Oh, shut u—" Quint was interrupted by a loud voice coming from their television speakers.

_"We're pleased to announce that there has been a rule change in the Games! Under this new rule, two tributes can win, as long as they're from the same district! Yes, both tributes from the same district will be declared winners if they are the last two alive. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"_

There was a brief pause after that, as the information sunk in. Two victors. Cato and Clove wouldn't have to compete, as Quint and Ashya had anticipated. Now they could win together.

"They can't do that!" exclaimed Ashya, breaking the silence, "Clove can't keep relying on Cato as an ally! She has to win this on her own!"

"You mean _Cato_ has to suck it up and kill Clove already so _he_ can win by himself!" corrected Quint.

"Give it up, Quint! Clove's going to—" Ashya stopped mid-argument.

"What? What is it?" asked Quint. Ashya said nothing. Quint turned back to the television; back to the two most threatening tributes in the Games. And she saw what Ashya was gaping at. In the heart of the arena, in the middle of the _Hunger Games_, Clove was in Cato's arms. Their lips met again, and Quint's eyes widened.

The two sisters sat back down on the couch. There was a long silence as they watched the screen. Eventually, Cato and Clove resumed hunting, as if nothing had happened.

"I guess there's more than one pair of star-crossed lovers in the arena this year?" said Quint after a while, uncomfortable with the silence. To her surprise, her older sister started laughing.

"They're not so star-crossed anymore!"

**Yeah, the Clato wasn't entirely canon in my opinion, but I felt it added to the chapter. My version of Clato is usually something along the lines of: by the time Cato realizes he cares about her, it's too late. This is the exception :) Please review! :D**

**The next chapter will be another Horatian and Philemon one-shot! :)**


	19. Voices

**Because I just love writing about these two :) This one is going to be 3****rd**** person, but somewhat in Horatian's point of view. So forgive me if the writing's a little scattered, I'm trying to work out how he thinks.**

**WARNING: This chapter contains spoilers for my newest story, Burn With Us.**

_"Friends show their love in times of trouble, not in happiness." –Euripides_

Chapter Nineteen: Voices

_BOOM!_ Horatian watches as the pod explodes under Arion's feet in a swirl of bright orange flame. Members of the squad are knocked off their feet, flying across the alleyway like birds. Horatian lands hard on his back. He blinks, but the pain doesn't go away. He blinks again. The air has left his lungs, he realizes, and he gasps for breath. He hears screaming, and reaches up to block his ears. It's an automatic response.

His hands are covered in blood, but it isn't his own. Horatian doesn't know what to make of it.

"Arion!" Someone begins to sob, a choked, muffled sound. Arion's sister, Alexis. She's on the same team, Horatian remembers.

As he sits up, he vaguely notices the confusion and panic around him. Half the squad is unconscious, and the other half is shoving aside the rubble in an attempt to regain their footing. Hyaline is closest to him. The victor appears to be drifting in and out of consciousness, every few seconds making another feeble endeavor to lift herself up again.

_Don't worry,_ someone says. Horatian doesn't recognize the voice.

_Get up_, says a different voice, _Run. They're going to hurt you. Run away._

It's then that Horatian's scattered thoughts come together, and something that had been cast to the back of his mind suddenly becomes apparent.

"Philemon!" he shouts. His voice cuts through the muted sounds of the squad members recovering from the pod's detonation. "Phil!" Horatian pushes himself off the uneven asphalt, feeling slow and disoriented in the aftermath of the explosion. The whole alley spins around him like a carousel. The teenager slumps against the wall of a building, but he's standing nevertheless.

"Philemon!" He spots her, lying on the ground a few yards away. She's close enough to the site of the blast to be covered in gruesome, dark spatters of blood. Horatian stumbles over, falling to his knees beside his friend.

"Phil," he says, shaking her shoulder gently, "Phil, wake up."

_Get up, Philemon!_ shouts the first voice.

_Dead_, remarks the second.

"Philemon, wake up, you have to!" He can feel the eyes of the other squad members on him. Hyaline, finally able to regain her bearings, goes to comfort Alexis, who still cries for her brother. But she's looking at Horatian. Zephyr stirs, waking to the sound of shouting and turning to see what had happened.

"Phil! Please! I—" Horatian's voice breaks. Tears sting his eyes, but still Philemon lies motionless. At that moment, Horatian sees a shadowy figure out of the corner of his eye. It's a person, and they don't belong here.

_Run, run, run, run, run!_ _You have to escape!_

"_GO AWAY_!" Horatian whips around and shouts at the hallucination. Hyaline gives him a strange look. But to his relief, the shadow disappears immediately. They'll come back. He knows it. But for now, he's alone.

Alone. Horatian buries his face in his hands. He's all alone.

_Not necessarily_, taunts one of the voices. Horatian shakes his head violently.

"Just leave me be!"

"Horatian?" says another, familiar voice. His eyes open, and he's staring right at Philemon. She's awake.

For that moment, every voice but hers is banished to the back of his mind.

**I enjoyed writing from Horatian's POV! Sort of like writing from Claude's POV: Lots of internal conflict because of the internal voices. Anyway, hope you enjoyed! There might be another part to Horatian and Philemon's story, or maybe not. I won't know if you'd like to read another unless you review ;)**


	20. A Bow Is A Bow

**SO…I had the strangest dream last night. I was watching some Hunger Games thing, but I couldn't tell if it was The Hunger Games or Catching Fire. Weird, right? So the last scene was this person talking about Cato's life in District Two after the Games. And I was all excited about writing fanfiction about it. It wasn't until I woke up that I realized that Cato didn't HAVE a life in District Two after the Games. He died. *facepalm***

**That was the story of the biggest blonde moment of my existence. I'm ashamed. But you know dreams. They don't always control what you see, but also what you do and think. Argh! Dreams.**

**Anyway, I've decided that now Cato WILL have a life in District Two after the Games, because I'm going to write an AU. Good idea? Bad idea? I'd appreciate feedback :D**

**So here's the chapter:**

_"Be strong enough to stand alone, smart enough to know when you need help, and brave enough to ask for it!" –Unknown_

Chapter Twenty: A Bow Is A Bow

The bowstring snapped back again, lashing against Garnet's arm like a whip. The metal arrow flew four feet before falling to the ground with a clatter.

_New record_, thought Garnet bitterly, rubbing her forearm where the bowstring had stuck her. A month ago, she had been able to send her arrows straight into the center of the target, every time.

_Thwack!_

"Ow!" The fourteen-year-old bit her lip. It hadn't been long since they'd let her back into training. She had dislocated her elbow in an accident, and was lucky she didn't lose her arm as well as her archery skills.

Garnet took another arrow from her quiver and positioned it in the bow. She tried once more to draw back her arm. The bowstring was supposed to be pulled to the corner of her mouth, but Garnet couldn't force it far enough.

"Come on!" she muttered under her breath, lowering her weapon and yanking on the bowstring. She struggled to pull it away from the bow itself, but her arm was weak. With every tug, the twinge in her elbow became more painful.

This was her weapon of choice!

Suddenly, she lost her hold on the bowstring. And the arrow, which Garnet had been trying so hard to shoot straight, flew a little farther. It may have even counted as success if it didn't come so close to hitting the boy standing next to her.

He stumbled backwards when the weapon flew by his face, nearly tripping over his own feet. "Jeez!" he exclaimed, sounding more shocked than anything else, "I did _not_ see that one coming."

"Sorry!" said Garnet, her face burning red, "I-I didn't mean to shoot it that way!" The boy hung up his weapon, one of the fancier compound bows. Garnet had always preferred recurves, simply because they were traditional. It didn't really matter in the long run, though. A bow was a bow, and all types of bows could shoot to kill. All types of bows could shoot arrows on accident, too. But for some reason, the boy was smiling.

"I knew it'd be kind of risky practicing here," he said jokingly, "But I had no idea how close I'd come to death!" Garnet had always insisted on doing her archery training alone. In her frustration, she hadn't noticed the boy when he arrived. As he laughed, she forgot why she'd even wanted that solitude while she practiced. Did he think she was arrogant? He must have… The fact that she was having such a hard time shooting made it even worse. The soon-to-be Career felt her face turn a deeper shade of red.

"Hey, I'm sorry." The boy must have noticed her expression. Garnet turned back to the target and reached for another arrow.

"I know it's gotta be hard," said the boy, "Coming back after being injured like that? But you've been working on archery for a week. And not to offend you or anything, but…" He seemed to have trouble finding the right words.

"But I haven't gotten any better?" Garnet finished for him. There was a brief pause. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the boy nod.

"I mean…either you're going to get it again, or you're not. Maybe it's just time you tried something different." He sounded wary, like he was afraid of upsetting her. Garnet looked the boy square in the face for the first time. His eyes were a light shade, a grayish blue.

"Something different," she repeated. The boy nodded.

"You know, like a new weapon of choice. I've seen you throw knives," he told her, "You're really good."

"Thanks..." Garnet couldn't get used to having knives as a weapon of choice. She could throw them well enough, but their lightness made them feel awkward in her hands. Arrows flew faster, farther. They were more accurate, too, since they were less likely to be affected by wind resistance.

"Garnet, right?" he asked, interrupting her thoughts.

"Yeah, that's me."

"I'm Sheen."

"Nice to meet you, Sheen."

"Likewise." he grinned, "So, how about those throwing knives?"

"I don't know…" said Garnet uncertainly, "I think I've been an archer for too long. I can't just give it up."

"Oh," said Sheen. "Hey, maybe you don't have to. Ever tried a crossbow?" Garnet thought about it.

"No, I guess I haven't. You?" Sheen nodded.

"Yeah. They're pretty easy, once you get the hang of them."

"Can you show me?" asked Garnet. After all, a bow was a bow.

Sheen beamed at her.

**Team Gareen :) ANYWAY, hope you enjoyed this chapter. Next one: District Two, the reaping of the 75****th**** Hunger Games.**

**I could really use feedback on that AU idea I mentioned at the beginning! :)**


	21. Grief

**And we're back! With chapter twenty-one. I changed it a bit. It's no longer the 75****th**** reaping in Two, but the 73****rd**** Victory Tour in One :) Sorry, hope you like the chapter anyway! I probably won't have time to update again soon, because I have a school project that I really ought to be working on now. :)**

_"To be angry is to revenge the faults of others on ourselves." –Alexander Pope_

Chapter Twenty-One: Grief

Flash called him Pirate. He wasn't a thief, though. Nor was he a captain, or a sailor. He lived in District 1. He didn't even know how to swim. He was Pyrite Munroe, a young quarry worker who would have been a Career, if things had been different. But things hadn't. He was still the too-tall boy with hair that was too long, and a smile that was too crooked. Not that anyone had seen him smile lately. Because he was also the boy who lost his girlfriend in the 73rd Hunger Games.

He waited at the train station for hours, long before the rest of his district arrived. He sat against the far wall, directly across from where the train would pull in. But he wasn't watching the tracks. His eyes were fixed on one of the large screens hanging just above the platform. In honor of the Victory Tour, two pictures—two faces—had been fading in and out of the display since early morning. Not blurring together. To Pyrite, the faces couldn't be more contrasting.

The first was Luster. Dark brown hair, narrow green eyes, freckles. Pyrite must have trained alongside him at some point, but he could never recall seeing the boy at training. Because he hadn't been memorable, not until he volunteered. In the picture, Luster stared at something beyond the camera. His mouth was half open, as if he were about to ask a question. Not a very flattering photo, but this was what his district had to remember him by.

Pyrite blinked, and Luster's picture faded away. He winced as Flash's face appeared on the screen. She was beautiful, even in her dull-brown tribute outfit, her blonde hair scraped back into a careless ponytail. She'd obviously been woken too early for her liking, just so this photo could be taken. But still, the corners of her mouth were turned up in a smirk. A wide Flash-grin, just the one she'd give him when they talked about how they'd be victors someday. Pyrite wanted to smile back, sling his arm around her shoulders. They'd walk to training together.

Pyrite chastised himself. He hadn't come here this early to think about Flash. He'd come for some time alone.

So he could think about Flash.

Pyrite clenched his fists. Six months had gone by, but she hadn't left his mind. Not once. Unlike her district partner, Flash was unforgettable.

The first of the crowd began to gather by the platform. Pyrite watched, one more time, as Flash disappeared from the screen, replaced by Luster once again. He got to his feet, walking to stand by the tracks as he waited for the train to roll in. The ache in his chest had returned.

* * *

On a high-speed Capitol train, less than a mile away from the District 1 station, sat the victor of the 73rd Hunger Games.

His name was Shadow. _Shadow Corelli_, a name spoken a million times a day, throughout the entire country. 'Shadow' was not a nickname. It suit him, though. He was a relatively quiet boy, one of the orphanage kids from District 2.

In the arena, Luster had been his ally. Flash had been his kill.

Everyone was aware that he had suffered a loss in the Games. Leda. His district partner had been a friend. She was reaped, something virtually unheard of in District 2. The pre-decided volunteer had panicked. No one was willing to risk the dishonor, the shame, of taking her place. Now _that_ was unheard of.

Leda lost her life in second place, in an attempt to save her dying district partner. Now Shadow was a victor. Just as he had always dreamed.

He wasn't sure if this was truly what victory felt like.

Shadow eyed his escort warily as she buttered a roll. After a few moments, she noticed him staring.

"Would you like one, dear?" Shadow shook his head. The Capitolite took a bite of her bread. After she swallowed, she took a sip from a cup of a strange, blue drink.

"Won't this exciting for you?" she gushed, "One more stop, and you'll be celebrating with your friends again!" Shadow shrugged. His right shoulder, now part of a prosthesis that went from fingertips to collarbone, felt clunky and awkward as he raised it. He couldn't use the muscle well, as it had been cut apart months ago by the blade of a battle-axe. It was a challenge for even the Capitol to partially repair it.

He thought of the girl who had swung that axe, chopping clean through the bones of his shoulder. Then of his little district partner, who had taken the axe girl's life. Again, he heard her tears as she collapsed next to him. His heartbeat quickened as the wild cry of a muttation rang in his ears.

"Shadow, honey? Are you feeling all right?" The voice of his escort brought the victor back to reality.

"Fine." His voice sounded strained. He pried his fingers loose from the bottom of the chair, trying to focus on something else. He reached for a roll.

"We're here!" sang his escort, jumping to her feet just as the train jerked to a stop. She wobbled a little in her high heels before grabbing onto the back of a chair to regain her balance. The basket of bread tipped over, and Shadow caught a piece before it could roll off the table.

"You'll want to save your appetite, dear," advised the escort, "For the celebration!" Shadow replaced the roll.

One more stop.

* * *

The big welcome hadn't amounted to much, in Pyrite's opinion. He'd left early, repelled by the sight of Flash's killer. Just to see the new victor, he discovered, even in the state Flash and her ally had left him in, made his blood boil.

The Laureate family was already in the square, standing on a platform below the stage. Two parents Flash had never been close to, and one little brother she'd loved wholeheartedly.

Pyrite stepped up to the platform. None of Flash's family members objected to his presence there. Splendor, her brother, was the only one who gave him a second glance.

"Hi," said the nine-year-old, who was normally something of a motormouth. The grief of losing Flash had been reawakened for Splendor, too. Today his voice was quiet. His eyes were tinged red.

"Hey, Splend." A long moment passed. Pyrite was lost in thought. Laureate. When she'd said goodbye to him, Flash had given him a joking grin. _I'll win, Pyrite. I mean, I'm Flash Laureate, you know? It's in the name._ Pyrite had smiled at that.

It wasn't as if he had been positive she would return victorious; you never could be. But she'd come so far. Too far to die in the final four.

"He's going to stand right up there," said Splendor finally, nodding to the stage. "And talk to us like nothing happened." The boy's mother placed a hand on his shoulder and said something quietly. Whatever it was she told her son, it only seemed to anger him.

"You should've seen him at the station," offered Pyrite. "You see what your sister did to him?"

"What Cacelia did to him," corrected Splendor. Cacelia was the name of Flash's ally. Third place. Their deaths were only minutes apart.

"Yeah," said Pyrite, "Still, I mean…" He trailed off. Neither of them said another word after that. The ceremony had begun.

* * *

Shadow stumbled gracelessly through his speech. He'd never been a great talker, especially with an audience like this one. Despite his efforts to concentrate on his speech, after a moment of staring into the crowd, he couldn't stop himself. His eyes flickered down to the platform where the tributes' families stood.

On one side was a slight woman with dark hair, and a tall man who looked shockingly similar to Shadow's former ally. He was impassive as he watched the new victor speak.

On the other side, two adults and a younger boy who all shared Flash's features. The little boy was looking away. The other individual was a teenager, and at least a head taller than the rest of the family. But the only feature he shared with the girl from District 1 was the color of his hair. A cousin, maybe.

"Thank you," Shadow concluded his speech and accepted the polite applause with a slight grimace. He walked quickly to the edge of the stage. The sooner this night was over, the better.

Without warning, something slammed into the new victor from the side.

"Argh!" When he hit the ground, Shadow held up his arm to block his attacker's punches. With the intent to knock them off him, he swung his fist. He heard a wheeze, and raised his head to look.

The older boy from Flash's side of the platform, his face contorted in rage, struggled against the grip of the Peacekeepers holding him back. He shouted something unintelligible at Shadow, fighting to free his hands. The new victor felt a pair of arms start to help him up, but he leaned out of the way. He pulled himself to his feet, watching as the Peacekeepers hauled the boy away.

* * *

"Pyrite!" He heard Splendor shout after him. He didn't respond, sinking to the ground as the Peacekeepers dragged him down the uneven road. Pyrite glared at the victor, who was certainly shaken but completely unhurt. The boy from 2 was looking back at him, though he didn't seem angry. Or even very surprised.

Pyrite's features fell into a scowl.

In a moment, the young quarry worker's hands were bound together, secured to a short wooden post. One of the Peacekeepers grabbed Pyrite's shirt, and tore the fabric like tissue paper. He didn't understand what was going on until he heard the earsplitting crack of a whip, felt the pain as the weapon struck his bare back.

He remembered another painful moment. The day Flash had walked into training, her shoulders made bulky by the bandages under her shirt. The charge had been possession of weapons, and she had been punished for it, as Pyrite was being punished now. No one could tell Flash what to do. Made delirious in his agony, the corner of Pyrite's mouth turned up.

In the next lash, the whip was brought down with alarming force. The smile dropped from Pyrite's face, and he hung his head.

_How come I'm such an idiot?_

_Beats me, Pirate…_

**Three cheers for longer chapters! :) Question: Whose side are you on?**


	22. Best Friend

_"Life is an awful, ugly place to not have a best friend." –Sarah Dessen_

Chapter Twenty-Two: Best Friend

Barric sat down hard in one of the cushioned chairs in the Justice Building, tears stinging at his eyes. Only about five minutes had passed since his name had been called at the reaping. The Games were in less than a week, and the clock was already ticking.

In Barric's district, the word 'reaping' was spoken casually nearly every day. Likely because the eighteen-year-old lived in District 9, where the term was just another word for harvest. Reapings took place nearly every day, if you used it in that sense.

_The_ reaping was another matter entirely.

His parents, both tall and dark-haired as he was, were the first to come in for their visit. Rather than sitting down across from Barric, they hugged him tightly. Without a word. It was as if they'd never see him again.

_Who says they will?_ Barric thought. His stomach turned. This could easily be his last day in District 9. He assumed his parents meant to comfort him, but it only threw him into a panic. When they left the room, he tried to pull himself together. There would be cameras at the station.

As he waited, he thought of the life he'd have to leave behind. His school friends, weekends spent working in the fields. Even staring down the scrawny old cat that liked to hang around the fence behind his home. It wasn't much. It was his life, though. And he wanted to keep it.

Barric wasn't expecting another visitor, but he got one. Whit.

"I thought you had to be at the train already," he told his friend. "You know, victor and all."

He couldn't help but notice that Whit looked quite uncomfortable in the Justice Building. Barric supposed it had to be unnerving for him, since last year their roles were reversed. Whit had been the tribute, and Barric the visitor. Although, Whit had made it through the Games, and earned the not-so-coveted place as District 9's first and only victor. Now, he was Barric's mentor.

"No," Whit lingered in the doorway for a moment before finally crossing the threshold. "I'm a friend, too, you know."

Barric cracked a smile as Whit sat down across from him. For a minute, neither of them spoke. Whit fidgeted with his eye patch, as he always did when he felt uneasy. This was one injury he'd acquired before the Hunger Games. Barric remembered the incident quite clearly. Whit hadn't been nearly as skilled with a scythe back then as he'd been in his Games. On the first day of the harvest, he'd somehow gouged his eye out by accident. There had been yelling from the other harvesters; earsplitting howls of pain from the fifteen-year-old Whit. Barric was by his friend's side through the whole ordeal. Even when Whit nearly crushed the bones in his wrist during the medical procedure. But the moment the shouting stopped, the pirate jokes started. And in time, the two of them had been laughing again.

So much had changed since then.

Whit's expression slowly sobered as he thought.

"This is my fault," he said, "That you're going in."

"Whit, it's not—"

"I must not have been a good enough victor for them…" Whit said to himself. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration, as if he was trying to figure out what he did wrong. "This can't happen. They can't do this to you, too."

For once in his life, the normally talkative Barric remained completely silent. He thought about his friend's words. If, by some miracle, he became a victor, would he suffer the same fate as Whit? Would he be plagued by nightmares; by memories? It always seemed like his friend was followed by a dark cloud. A burden, forever hanging over his head.

Of course, when the only other option was death…

Barric didn't live close to town. His family didn't have electricity most of the day. They barely had enough to eat. Living in the Victors' Village would be an enormous improvement.

Wouldn't it?

"Listen." Whit's mood had shifted again. The one blue eye he had left focused on Barric. "You can win this. I promise, you can."

"Maybe," Barric muttered, still half-lost in his thoughts.

"I'll help you through it."

"Well, you're the expert," said Barric. "So, where do we start?"

"In a few minutes, they'll take you to a car. Drive you to the station. As soon as you walk out where the cameras can see you, _that's_ where you make your impression on the Capitol," said Whit, "So make it a good one, yeah?" Barric nodded.

"We can talk more once we get on the train."

"What about the girl?" asked Barric, referring to the sixteen-year-old who had been chosen as his district partner. He couldn't recall her name, but he clearly remembered the look of her. With the dress she was wearing, definitely a merchant kid, from the town. She hadn't acted superior, though. Not in the least. She'd wished him luck as she took his hand.

But Whit shook his head.

"There's only one victor, Barric, and it's going to be you."


	23. Unlikely Friends (Part One)

**Well, chances are, I won't be ending this story anytime soon. It's become more than a story to me. It's the place where I can write all my one-shots. :)**

**For any of you who have read The Victor From Twelve, Alder is in this one :) This is part 1 of the story of his first time mentoring.**

_"I think we've all been kind of…everyone's been hurt, everyone's felt loss, everyone has exultation, everyone has a need to be loved, or to have lost love, so when you play a character, you're pulling out those little threads and turning them up a bit." –Mark Ruffalo_

Chapter Twenty-Three: Unlikely Friends (Part One)

"You'll be fine, Al. I'll show you where you need to be, and it's simple from there on."

Scooter placed a hand on Alder's shoulder and led the new victor inside. Alder shoved his shaking hands into his pockets, determined not to appear weak. Since his time in the arena, he often had that look about him; shoulders tensed and eyes suspicious, as if he were nervous someone would attack him by surprise.

This time last year, he had been locked in the Launch Room, preparing for the Games. Now he was a victor. There were new tributes going into the arena, tributes he had to mentor. This year, their lives were in his hands.

There were four people sitting in the main room. Alder wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but it hadn't been a group of kids. They looked a lot older when they were dressed up for interviews; it was surprising to see them all in casual clothes, sitting in plush chairs lined up in front of the massive screen. This would be the seventh Games to take place in Panem. Most of the victors were just out of their teen years. Scooter, from the first Hunger Games, was the oldest at age twenty-four. Alder, sixteen, was the youngest.

Most of the others turned to stare as the oldest and newest victors entered the room. There was a dark-eyed girl with straight hair and a solemn expression. That would be Penelope, thought Alder. Second Games. The victor of the third Games greeted them with a smirk. District Four. Alder had forgotten his name. Then there was Woof, the lanky boy with the crooked smile. The fifth victor, Pandora, was examining her nails lazily, her dark ponytail spilling over the back of her reclining chair.

"Hey," Scooter greeted them as he would friends, though only one of the victors acknowledged him.

"Scooter, you're late," said Woof, "Showing the newbie around?" He looked too cheerful, though it was most likely because he was no longer sitting in a room full of Career tributes. Scooter was from District Eight, like him. Alder's home was in Twelve. Both of the girls were from Two, and the last, nameless victor was from District Four, of course.

"Nah, just got caught in traffic. Wish I was allowed to drive myself," said Scooter. Woof snorted.

"Yeah. Bet you'd plow right into a building or something."

"Would you two quiet down?" asked Penelope, "Some of us have tributes to watch."

"We all have tributes, Penny," said Scooter.

"Don't call me that. And just because you have tributes doesn't mean they can win. First victor or not, the only successful tribute you've had is Woof, and that's not saying much."

"Hey!" protested Woof. With a fleeting smile, Penelope turned back to the screen.

"Well," said Scooter, stepping forward to block Woof's line of vision, "This is Alder Zane."

"We all know who he is," said the victor from Four acidly. Alder winced, remembering the girl from the fishing district. She had collapsed with his spear in her stomach, the light fading from her eyes. This victor would have mentored her.

"Lay off, Ronan," said Scooter, "He's just a kid."

"That's what you say every year."

After that, the victors were silenced. The tributes had finally risen from their Launch Rooms to see what the Gamemakers had in store for them this year. And it was definitely something else. Alder had never seen a landscape like this. An endless, dry expanse of golden sand; a desert. However, this wasn't nearly the biggest shock.

The Cornucopia was empty.

Alder caught his breath. These Games would be brutal. While the other victors stared at the screen intently, the victor from Twelve fought the urge to look away. Penelope rose from her seat when the countdown ended, watching the girl from Two leap off her pedestal.

"C'mon Margaret," she muttered. The tribute hit the sand running, her red ponytail making her hard to miss, even in the middle of the battle. Alder, on the other hard, was having trouble spotting his tributes in the confusion.

Woof and Scooter exchanged somber smiles when their male tribute threw himself in Margaret's way. The girl from Two landed on top of the smaller boy when she fell, wrenching his arm into an awkward position. Winded, the Career girl struggled to her feet and continued in search of a weapon. The boy from Eight got back up with a grimace and headed away from the carnage, holding his elbow.

"Kill him!" shrieked Pandora.

"Shut up," said Penelope, massaging her temples, "She'll get another chance."

The rest of the fight, the victors watched in silence, save for the occasional shout of dismay from Pandora when her tribute failed to make a kill. Penelope must have been mentoring the boy, though she looked just as unhappy. The lack of weapons made it a challenge for the tributes to destroy each other.

At the end of the day, Scooter and Woof were grinning like mad, as both of their tributes made it out alive. Only one of Alder's had survived. Reyna, a girl from the Seam. She was a smart kid; good at flying under the radar, just like her mentor. She was only thirteen, which made it especially impressive for her to make it past the bloodbath. Her district partner was not so lucky. Alder cast a glance at Ronan, whose tribute had murdered his without a second thought.

Sirius. The last time they caught him on tape, he was sprawled on the ground, dark, ugly bruises forming across his throat. His blonde hair didn't quite cover the emptiness in his unseeing eyes. He'd had three sisters and a brother back home. Now they'd never see him again, and it was Alder's fault.

Was it like this every year?

"The first time's the hardest." Alder looked up. Scooter was standing beside his chair.

"I'm so sorry, Alder," he said earnestly. Alder nodded. He hadn't realized he was crying.

"C'mon," said Scooter, "We only have to sit here during the important parts. You've got a booth. You can send…Reyna, is it? You can send Reyna a sponsor gift."

Slowly, Alder got up from his chair, rubbing his sleeve across his eyes. He felt gazes on him, though he didn't return the stares of the other victors. So much for trying not to appear weak. He watched the ground as Scooter led him into the hallway.

They stopped in front of a door marked with a silver _12_.

"This one's yours," said Scooter. Hesitantly, Alder turned the knob and walked into the room.

The only furniture inside was a chair and a desk, occupied by a multitude of computer monitors. Alder found himself grateful for the smaller space. He didn't need to stay on guard.

"If you want to send a sponsor gift, just search up the item you want to send here." Scooter pointed at one of the screens. "Then use the joystick like so—" He demonstrated how to use the strange contraption on the desk.

Alder nodded politely, though he only wanted to be alone. Once Scooter closed the door, the new victor buried his face in his hands. How could he have let this happen?

Suddenly, he heard a muffled sob. Alder's head snapped up. He nearly knocked over his chair in his panic to get to his feet. However, no one else was in the room. The crying was coming from the monitor.

Reyna. Alder wasn't the only one affected by the death of Sirius. The little girl sat at the base of a sand dune, hugging her knees, tears running down her cheeks. It was already too easy to get dehydrated in this arena. Alder reached for the joystick and selected a bottle of water to send to her.

When the gift landed softly at Reyna's feet, she glanced up, looking surprised. Alder supposed he should have told her about the sponsors she had gained from her easy friendliness in her interview. In a way, she reminded him of his own district partner.

"Thank you," said Reyna. She couldn't find a camera to direct the statement at, so she spoke up to the cloudless sky. Alder took his hand off the joystick and leaned back in his chair again. He thought about Reyna's words.

In his opinion, he didn't deserve them.

**Part 2 will likely be posted today as well! If there's anything you want to hear about in the next chapter, please review this one!**


	24. Unlikely Friends (Part Two)

**Thank you to HogwartsDreamer113 for this story's 50****th**** review!**

**And we're back, with the first six victors! Hope you enjoy :)**

_"Anyone who has experienced a certain amount of loss in their life has empathy for those who have experienced loss." –Anderson Cooper_

Chapter Twenty-Four: Unlikely Friends (Part Two)

It was a repetitive nightmare; Alder had experienced it before. The fear never left him, though, no matter how many times he'd had the dream. Trapped, cornered. The screams of his allies echoed in his ears until he could hear nothing else.

Alder awoke to a real scream; a piercing shriek from the monitor.

_Reyna!_ He searched the different computer screens, trying to remember which one transmitted the thirteen-year-old's footage. To his relief, the agonized cry had not belonged to his tribute. Margaret was at it again.

A few days ago, the girl from Two had begun to hallucinate. Probably a snakebite or something. But from the sound of the Career tribute's shouts, whatever she saw was horrifying.

Reyna, who had also been jolted out of her slumber by the scream, began to pack away her supplies. It was too hot in the arena to sleep in her bedroll; she occasionally used it as a pillow. Her water bottle was empty now, but to Alder's alarm, the cost of the water needed to keep Reyna alive had drained District Twelve of sponsor money. They Capitolites simply weren't rooting for Reyna anymore. At least, not the ones who would pay. She was a friendly little tribute, but in the long run, no one believed she could win.

Not one but her mentor.

He could ask Scooter; his tributes had died last week. No, you couldn't borrow sponsor money. It didn't work that way. Reyna would have to find water without Alder's help.

Reyna zipped up her backpack and slipped it onto her shoulders. She stood up, dusting off her sandy knees and pulling her hat down to shield her eyes from the fast-approaching sun. Her blade—a collection of weapons had been discovered under the sand soon after the bloodbath—hung at her belt. It was a heavy-duty knife, one Alder imagined only the Careers could handle with much skill. But it had served Reyna well over the weeks.

Of course, it wouldn't matter what weapons she possessed if she had no water. Alder was confident that Reyna knew this as well. He had a smart tribute. And though there was no water source in the desert, only weak mirages the tributes—excepting Margaret—had learned to ignore, Reyna knew where she could find what she needed.

There were still plenty of supplies to go around.

Alder heard a sharp buzz from a speaker by his door. The mentors were to report to the main room to view this scene. Reluctantly, the victor from Twelve rose from his chair and headed out into the hallway.

In the main room, Ronan was picking a fight with the victors from Two, complaining about Margaret's hallucination-induced screaming. His tribute had made an effort to keep the dwindling alliance together while there were still over five tributes left. However, the girl from Two was making this hard for him.

"He doesn't have to put up with it," said Penelope coolly.

"Yeah. If he doesn't want to work with her, why doesn't he leave?" demanded Pandora.

"There's only three left in their alliance," countered Ronan, "He wants—"

The three victors silenced when Scooter entered the room. Alder wasn't quite sure how it worked, but the others seemed to have a grudging respect for the first victor. Maybe because he made it through the arena without a clue beforehand as to what the Hunger Games would be like. He made history, so the other victors looked up to him.

"Hey, everyone." Scooter's voice still held a rueful tone. After their two tributes had been killed, Woof went back to District Eight. But, for some reason, Scooter chose to stay in the Capitol, to spend the rest of the seventh Games in the melancholy mentor room.

"So," he sighed, taking a seat, "What're we here for?"

"Twelve's going after the supplies," said Penelope.

"Reyna," Alder corrected, staring at the television.

"Hey, he talks," remarked Ronan snidely.

"Shut up," Scooter snapped at him. Ronan muttered something under his breath, but the first victor ignored it. Alder watched as Reyna came closer to the Career camp, following the sound of Margaret's screams.

"Margaret, quiet!" The boy from Four was attempting to calm her down. Alder had never seen this side of the sadistic Career leader. "Please, Margaret, they're going to target us!" The redheaded girl stopped screaming, though her shoulders still shook violently. Pandora turned away from the screen.

By this point, Reyna was close enough to see the camp. The camera panned across the desert, showing the victors what the girl from Twelve saw. A scattered collection of supplies, Margaret and the boy from Four sitting in the middle of it all. The pale-haired boy from One was walking back towards his allies, probably returning from a hunting trip. Alder gripped the armrests of his chair. She needed a distraction.

Luckily, just then, a diversion was provided. Two cannon blasts rocked the arena, narrowing the field to four tributes. Three of them, allies.

The fight didn't break out immediately. It took a few seconds for the sounds; for what they stood for, to sink in. Then, the boy from One threw himself at the boy from Four, not even bothering to draw his knife.

"No!" screamed Margaret, though it could have easily been another heat-induced hallucination.

Alder glanced at Ronan, who had a look of horror plastered on his face. The boy from Four's cannon went off, and his mentor stood immediately, fists clenched. He strode out of the room without another word.

No one went after him.

"Alder! She's going!" said Scooter. Alder's focus snapped back to the screen, where his tribute had darted out from the shadows of a twisted, dead tree.

_Come on, come on…_

Margaret had drawn her axe, striking the boy from One in the shoulder with the blade. He cried out in pain, and Reyna ran into the middle of the camp. She grabbed the first water bottle in reach—Margaret's—and turned to make her escape.

But before she could make it ten yards, Reyna skidded to a halt, eyes wide in panic. She dropped Margaret's water bottle in the sand, and stood, frozen with terror, before a pair of desert scorpions the size of bears.

Reyna's high-pitched scream caught the attention of both the fighting Careers, just as the scorpions lunged. Their armored legs carried them across the sand in an instant. In the next instant, one barbed stinger pierced Reyna's chest.

* * *

_"Alder?" asked the girl, "What's it like?" Alder glanced over at her, confused. Was she asking about the arena, or the Games in general?_

_"Being a victor," she specified after a moment, "A mentor. Is it any better than being a tribute?" Alder thought about it. No. It wasn't. Not in the least._

_But he nodded. Without motivation to live, she'd never make it out._

_"Oh. How's that?" Alder shrugged. A brief silence followed._

_"You know, I'm really glad we have a mentor this year. You'll help us through it, right?"_

_Alder nodded. And this time, he meant it._

* * *

_Boom!_

Alder watched helplessly as Reyna crumpled, a dark stain spreading across her shirt, out from where the spine was still embedded. And suddenly, he couldn't look anymore.

The young victor rose from his chair shakily. He managed to stumble down the hallway to the bathroom before throwing up, the gory images burned into the backs of his eyelids.

"How in Panem did you become a victor?" The remark obviously wasn't meant to be sharp, but it still stung like a lash.

"I've changed since," Alder managed to choke out.

"I can see that." Pandora's face came into view as she knelt down beside the victor from Twelve. "Margaret lost. Both my tributes are dead now, too."

The boy from One survived the Games. None of the mentors can claim victory this year. Alder did not stand again. He leaned against the wall, distraught. Reyna and Sirius were dead.

"It's my fault…"

"Listen to me," Pandora ordered him. Alder glanced up at her. "You're the only victor in your district. That means you have to come back here, every year until you get a few more. If _this_ happens every time you lose your tributes, it only hurts you. This is the Hunger Games. At least one of them _has_ to die."

The sixteen-year-old looked away. Pandora sighed and held out her hand.

"Get up."

"I'm not cut out for this," said Alder quietly.

"Tough luck, Twelve. It's not your choice." Pandora took his hand and pulled him up herself.

"It's my second year mentoring, remember? It's Ronan's fourth year losing both his tributes. I think you'll survive."

_I know I'll survive_, thought Alder. _Surviving was the easy part. The real Games; those have just begun._

**Sorry for the depressing chapter :( Here's what happens next: Pandora and Alder become friends. Margaret's twin brother, Claudius, wins the Hunger Games the next year, and Pandora has her first successful tribute. Alder's first tribute to survive is Haymitch Abernathy, in the 50****th**** Games. Sometime before that, though, Alder gets married and starts a family. His daughter is named Reyna.**


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